


A Room With A View

by artificial_ink



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Innocent voyeurism, non-spy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificial_ink/pseuds/artificial_ink
Summary: Illya's interest in the woman who lives across the from him may becoming a tad unhealthy. Then again, where else is he going to watch a free ballet?





	1. There's A Window Into My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first UNCLE fic! A little late into the fandom but I definitely can't get enough of these two. Hope you guys enjoy!

The first time Illya sees her, it is a warm summer’s night. Most of his windows are open to let in the breeze as he enjoys a quiet weekend. These were becoming increasingly rare as the building lost more of the elderly couples and refilled with a younger crowd. Although Illya was technically apart of the ‘younger crowd’ (as Cowboy oh so liked to remind him after Illya mistakenly complained to him), he never appreciated the loud parties and blasting music that were becoming normal. He’d even considered moving and began to search for new apartments. There were none so close to work nor so affordable. While he did not mind living in a rougher area (he certainly could defend himself), he did not want to constantly watch over his shoulder when walking home late or be worried someone had broken into his apartment. Besides, he got quite a good deal on rent for space that he had.

With a cooled cup of tea and a book of Chekov’s plays, Illya sits in his favorite chair and lets out a sigh of relief. He’d spent the day with Solo, who was determined to become Illya’s friend. They’d been paired off as a team at work. A rich client was rebuilding much of a newly purchased home to create a quaint art gallery. The home was currently 70’s chic but the client wanted it to be brought more into the modern world with old world flair to match with their eclectic collection. Upon hearing of Solo’s vast knowledge on displaying and protecting art (though Illya often wondered how much of his knowledge was honorably learned), the client requested the American for his expertise.

Honestly, Illya foresaw a lot of stepping on each other’s toes but Solo had a rather calm and collected way about him, even when he disagreed with Illya. The American was not afraid to voice his disagreement nor sugar coat it but Illya respected that. A team could not function if they did not communicate and that included any negative feelings. Still, Illya was often annoyed with Solo’s brash American ways as it permeated everything in his life, even what to order for lunch.

Now it was affecting Illya’s personal life as Solo had decided that because Illya had no friends in London (not true), that Solo needed to introduce him to the life that a bachelor should be living (a very promiscuous one and Illya was surprised Solo had yet to contract syphilis). Illya had a feeling it was actually the other way around. Solo surrounded himself with people, beautiful women and fascinating men, though Illya never got the impression that he was very close with any of them. Somehow, he found companionship with Illya, much to Illya’s misfortune.

But now Illya was back home after a lengthy shopping trip to find something for Solo’s mother. She was a fan of cheesy tourist memorabilia. Originally, Illya was only going to run some errands but Solo had tagged along and subsequently dragged Illya into every tourist shop along the route. Eventually, Solo settled on a bobblehead Queen Elizabeth after much debate. Both men went to a pub for a quick dinner before parting ways- Solo to a hipper bar to find women and Illya to find some peace and quiet.

Illya only makes it through one page of The Seagull before music drifts through the windows. His body tenses at the first few notes, disappointment coursing through him as he realizes his quiet night is over before it really began. Once he realizes the beat belonged to a jazzy, 60’s song, Illya looks up from his book in surprise. Normally, terrible techno or heavy bass filled rap bled through the walls. Solomon Burke was a musician occasionally played by the old tenants and one that he didn’t mind at all. Counting his blessings, Illya tries to go back to his play.

Curiosity wins out though and he tries to find the source of the music. It does not take him long to look out his window to the apartment across his. There’s only a small alley that separates the backs of the buildings and so a mere meter and a half separated the windows. It means he had a very clear view of a tiny woman in stripped pajamas dancing around her living room as she holds a tumbler of clear liquor. A pair of white sunglasses completes her outfit even if it is well past dark.

She must have moved in a few days ago. Stacks of boxes are still scattered around the room but she gracefully sways and twirls around them with ease. Her movements are free but controlled. Her spins edging on pirouettes. Each graceful movement focuses on using her shoulders, legs and arms more so than the hip thrusts filling the few clubs Solo had dragged the office to on drinking nights.

It’s rude to stare but Illya can’t take his eyes away. Determination lines her pretty face as she dances, as if her drunken show holds true hidden purpose. Illya can imagine her there in his own living room, skirting around his furniture and teasing him as she looks over her sunglasses, failing to hide the amusement on her face. By the end of the song, most of her drink is gone and she pauses to refill it. He can see the _Marusya_ brand vodka in her hand and wonders where she got it. As far as he knows, it is not shipped outside of Russia. One of his friends had been able to smuggle a case into London and offered a bottle to Illya as a thank you for a past favor. This little woman, though, is tipping it back like she could find it anywhere. He’s both impressed and a tad irked.

The song ends and a more modern song replaces it. Not to Illya’s taste, unfortunately. It’s an electro R&B song where a woman sings about untrustworthy men and cars, though Illya can only understand every other slang word. The woman’s dancing grows bouncier.

With a sigh, Illya goes back to his book. He denies the urge to move his favorite sofa chair so that it faces the window. Although the music is no longer to his taste, he refrains from playing some Glinka in an attempt to drown it out. He’s unsure why.

* * *

By the third time Illya sees her through the windows, he has fondly named her Little Chop Shop Girl. The more she unpacks, the more Illya pretends that he is learning more about her. Although sparse, her living room is filled with luxury car models, tools and the occasional car part. Yet, there is still a feminine air around it all. A silk scarf left on a chair, heels strewn about and a ballerina figurine. Illya knows these are all special aspects of Little Chop Shop Girl. No man lives there and he sees her tinkering around with the different car parts. That’s what he finds her doing the third time he sees her.

She is sitting in front of her coffee table. Many pieces of whatever she is building have been lain out on the table, carefully and patiently. Her hair is worn up with a floral scarf tied around her head and she wears a pair of worn coveralls. Soft pop music wafts through her open window and into Illya’s living room. He can just hear her humming along. It mingles with the recording of _Scheherazade_ that he has playing but somehow her melodic humming compliments the 19th century symphonic suite. Illya pretends to keep cleaning in case she looks up and sees him. She never does. Her attention is too caught in what she builds, her nimble little fingers taking care of each steel piece as if she were making a delicate Fabergé egg.

Later that night when he closes his eyes, he sees her fingers touching his skin with the same care she took with the carburetor. Although her hands must be rough from all the mechanic work, Illya imagines they are still soft like clouds.

 

* * *

 

The fifth time he sees her, Little Chop Shop is in her underwear, scurrying around and getting ready for the day she is already late for. Illya turns away as soon as he realizes but the matching bright coral lace panties are seared into his mind. The color looks nice against her tan skin, emphasizing a surprisingly lean and athletic body. If he takes a couple of glances after that, it is not like anyone knows. Still, when she is finally dressed in a sundress, disappointment takes hold of Illya. He wonders who will be enjoying her outfit that day.

 

* * *

 

 The sixth time is later that evening. She has a man over. She giggles and laughs at what he says as she drinks her endless supply of _Marusya_. They speak loudly in rapid German. While Illya does speak passable German, he closes the curtains instead of trying to make out their conversation. He drowns his sorrow in Rachmaninoff and a lonely game of chess. 

 

* * *

 

 

The eighth time is on a rainy Sunday, a few days after her male guest. Illya had been making a point to not look towards her window if he could help it. His interest in Little Chop Shop is unhealthy. He will likely never meet her and if he did run into her on the street, she wouldn’t look twice at him. So, he drinks tea and plays chess to take his mind off his troubles. Work is going well and Illya is a little displeased at how easily he works with Solo. Of course, they have many disagreements but only one about molding has ended with Illya dragging Solo down into an arm triangle choke hold (the Vice President, Waverly happened to walk into the office during this but only gave them a raised brow before leaving).

Overall, an accomplishment with Illya’s anger and Solo’s natural ability to push his buttons. Their superiors are already discussing future projects the two of them can team up on. Solo is also spending an increasing amount of time with Illya. They have even gone to the office gym together, though this doesn’t bother Illya as much because it’s nice to have someone to spar with that offers some challenge.

Illya is pulled out of his thoughts at the faint sound of furniture scraping along floor. He looks up to see Little Chop Shop in a pink leotard and ballet slippers. She moves her coffee table far off to the side of her living room and the sofa follows. After this, she starts clicking together metal bars into what appears to be a portable dance bar. A full-length mirror is placed in front of the bar. Intrigued, Illya watches as Little Chop Shop transforms into a Prima Ballerina. She stretches and practices the basic positions. Eventually, she moves on to more complex combinations. A sheen of sweat coats her forehead.

Once again, Illya cannot look away. He wonders if she knows he is watching. Occasionally, a little smirk breaks out on her face. Illya explains it away as her thinking back to something her German man has said.

 

* * *

 

Four months after Little Chop Shop has moved in across from him, Illya has lost count of the times he’s seen her. Men have come and gone through her apartment but he realizes that none of them are lovers. Most are friends. Maybe coworkers of hers as they all seem to share an interest in the car parts she builds in her spare time. None of them seems to show an interest in her femininity but that just means they are blind fools.

Every Sunday, Little Chop Shop practices her ballet. It is by no means the strict schedule of a dedicated dancer but the movements appear ingrained into her muscles nonetheless. There are some weeks she practices a few times a night and others she does not break out the dance bar at all during the week. Occasionally, she forgoes ballet for more modern styles of dance. Still, Sundays appear to be blocked out just for ballet. Illya does not complain. He watches as she practices enough to spend a minute or so dancing a wobbly en pointe. Her strength develops, though, and she is rather quickly creating dances to the more popular ballets. His favorite so far must be a rather dramatic take on _Swan Lak_ e. Her swan is more frantic than aloof but it suits her. 

 

* * *

 

One Sunday morning, late in November, Illya wishes he can sit down to enjoy tea and a quiet game of chess. Little Chop Shop is already dancing along to _Dance of the Willis_ , from Giselle. A new addition to her dance is a fat little dachshund, trying to join in with enthusiasm. The dog appeared a few days ago. He’s heard her shout in annoyance at it quite a few times. He’s unsure how he feels about the addition but a little fat dog named Schnitzel is better than a large, hairy boyfriend, he supposes.

What is really ruining the ambience though, is Solo drooling into Illya’s sofa. The night before, they went out for drinks. Solo was rather troubled and Illya eventually learned why after plying the American with vodka. Apparently, Solo’s youngest sister (of which he had many- four to be exact), was seeing an old acquaintance of Solo’s. Things had gotten serious but Solo did not trust the man as far as he could throw him since he used to be a ‘mentor’ to the younger man. Apparently the arts of romancing and escaping through bathroom windows were the main lessons. Illya thought there was a poetic justice to the whole situation but did not voice this opinion.

The sister would be visiting Solo in two months’ time but Solo had a stern talking to from his mother to avoid any attempts to break the two up. The only person Solo ever listens to is his mother and a war waged inside the American as he fought the urge to destroy the man bent on ‘ruining poor little Paulette’s naive trust of the world’.

It was the first time that Illya saw Solo actually drunk. He did not feel comfortable just sending him off in a cab, so brought Solo home and sat him on the sofa with a tall glass of water.

As Illya stands over the sofa and watches Solo sleep, he sighs. Taking a sip of tea, he looks up and watches as Little Chop Shop tempts Schnitzel away from her dancing with a bone and a doggie bed. A snort brings Illya’s attention back to Solo. Solo’s reemergence into the waking world is punctuated by a long, painful whine.

“What was in that vodka?” Solo asks, every word sounding like it took gargantuan effort to say.

“It was Russian Standard. No surprise to me that you cannot take your vodka like a man,” Illya answers smoothly. Solo opens one eye and glares.

“You mean drink like a commie,” Solo shoots back but Illya simply shrugs. “I’m a freedom loving American, Peril. You’ll never convert me to become a pawn of Mother Russia.” Once both of Solo’s eyes are open, he sees the refilled glass of water next to ibuprofen and takes it after a few failed attempts to reach for it. Illya goes to sit in his chair and begins to play chess as Solo whimpers about the misfortunes of his life.

“You know, perhaps this man has changed his ways for little Paulette. It could be true love,” Illya muses once Solo is able to sit up.

“Frank? He’s a dog and will always be one. Paulette can do better. Should do better,” Solo insists, repeating much of what he said the night before. It is interesting to see Solo care so much for anyone when he normally goes through people so fast. It’s not nefarious but Solo never seemed to be interested in people for more than a few days after prolonged contact. Though, it’s now obvious that Solo’s immediate family is the one weakness he has.

It’s refreshing to see Solo crumbled and out of sorts. His hair is sticking up in many places and there are bags under his eyes, contrasting with his pale pallor. For once, the perfect facade is cracked. Illya rather likes it. It makes Solo appear more subdued. A little easier to handle, in some ways. Especially on a Sunday morning when Illya should be watching Little Chop Shop’s take on _Giselle_. He does steal a few glances though.

“You’ve moved your furniture around,” Solo says eventually, lips smacking together as he rolls his tongue, displeased at the taste. Slowly, Solo takes in the living room. A few weeks ago, Illya had switched the sofa and his chair so that his chair offered a full view of the living room windows. Solo’s eyes burn into Illya as he holds onto a pawn tightly between his thumb and forefinger.

“I wanted to better the Feng Shui,” Illya shrugs, not looking away from the chess board even if he so desperately wants to see Little Chop Shop. Her Giselle is playful and she spins as if she is in a Viennese waltz. An exited bark and annoyed curse mean that Schnitzel forgot his bone and is trying to join in again. The commotion catches Solo’s attention and he turns to watch the show.

“Is Feng Shui the name of the pretty girl that lives across from you?” Solo asks slyly, some of his pain and misfortune rapidly disappearing. “The pretty girl in a leotard that is practicing ballet? Is this why you never want to join in on office brunch?”

“Office brunch is ridiculous. I see our coworkers enough on the weekday. Why must I eat brunch with them on the weekends? Also, brunch is a ridiculous concept. Just eat breakfast or skip to lunch,” Illya complains, hoping to distract Solo into a lecture about needing to work on a social life. He has no such luck.

“I always assumed your type was a heartier girl. One that can last a Russian winter. Guess I’ve been throwing the wrong women your way,” Solo says as he risks another long and obvious stare of Little Chop Shop. His words are more drawn out than usual. “You like them tiny and compact. Does that say something about your love of efficiency? Or do you just like feeling like a giant?”

“You speak as if I know her. She lives across from me, sometimes dances. It is all I know of her.”

“So, you didn’t move your chair so you could watch her? If she disappears and the bobbies ask around, I’m telling them about your unusual interest,” Solo insists, earning a raised eyebrow from Illya. “Then again, if you ask me to help dispose of the body before the authorities get involved, I will say nothing.”

“I have no intention of killing anyone. Though, if you keep talking, I may have to revise that decision,” Illya warns but Solo does not take the hint. Or simply ignores it. It appears that this new piece of juicy information revived his vigor tenfold.

“How long have you been watching her? When are you going to talk to her?” chatters Solo but Illya pointedly ignores him. After a silent pause, Solo continues a little more lasciviously. “She looks like she knows what to do with her body.”

That gets a reaction from Illya. He looks up at Solo in rage, setting down his chess piece with a thud onto the coffee table, causing the other pieces to jump up. The smirk from Solo tells Illya it was what the American was hoping for. Illya is annoyed at himself for falling into the trap.

“There is nothing between us. We are strangers and will stay that way,” Illya insists. With a grunt, Solo stands up and stretches.

“Really? Because she’s dancing for you,” Solo says simply before he makes his way to the bathroom, leaving Illya alone without any explanation. The suggestion causes some hope to blossom in Illya’s chest. Of course, he never dreamed that he would actually meet Little Chop Shop. Often at night, he thinks about all the ways they could meet and all the witty things he could say but probably never would be able to in the real moment. Although she’s but a meter and a half away, her apartment is worlds away from his. It’s destined to stay that way.

When Illya looks up, Little Chop Shop has forgone the dancing. Schnitzel sits in her arms as she tries to reprimand him but all he does is lick her face in affection. With the soft morning light, she has the appearance of an angel. She gives up with a small smile, looking up. Surprise lines her face as she catches Illya’s eyes. Then a blush paints her cheeks. It’s delicate and pretty. Probably nothing like the patchy red blush that is on Illya’s face. After a few beats, Illya looks down shyly at his chess board. He refuses to look back up until Solo reappears from the bathroom. By then, Little Chop Shop has disappeared.


	2. Only In My Dreams Are You Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the warm welcome and responses! And now for Gaby's POV and backstory. 
> 
> Translations at the end of the chapter.

 

“So, Gaby, has a handsome fellow caught your eye?” 

The question catches Gaby off guard. The last thing she expects Uncle Waverly to ask her is a question about her love life. And in front of her father, no less. The three of them sit at a table inside a rather nice French cafe. It was Uncle Waverly’s idea because he knew the manager and could get Schnitzel a little dog bowl of water as he waits under the table. Uncle Waverly was always surprising her with his thoughtfulness. Not that Waverly is her actual uncle. He’d been an old work colleague of her father and earned the fond title from an eight-year-old Gaby. All of that had been before Gaby’s father had to flee the country, leaving Gaby behind. 

She’d eventually ended up in foster care. Her ballet lessons became time spent in her foster father’s chop shop. It was only when she’d turned eighteen that she’d learned her father had been trying to get her back to him but was met with a lot of bureaucratic resistance from the government. Throw in a few unsavory groups that wanted her father’s brain and Gaby had been safer with a stranger. There had been more to it, she knew, even if Uncle Waverly and her father never mentioned the exact details of why her father had to flee. He was a brilliant engineer. Whatever could he have been working on that Germany did not agree with? What she did know was that it helped finance an expensive childhood. One that ended the day her father left.   

She’d refused any contact from her father a year after he left, when she realized he wasn’t coming back for her. Uncle Waverly had found her on her eighteenth birthday to reason with her and explain the situation. She and her father talked more since then and now were finally on good standing. So much so that she accepted a job that brought her closer to him. 

“You mean, other than Herr Schnitzel?” Gaby asks with a smirk, looking down at the fat little dachshund who was whining in hopes of table scrapes. She really needs to talk to her father about putting the poor thing on a diet. At this rate, Schnitzel’s legs wouldn’t reach the ground because of his growing tummy. 

“No new man in your life?” Her father pushes and this time, Gaby raises an eyebrow. It’s very unlike the two men to take such interest in her love life. In fact, she expects them to shun any man her wandering eye might find. She’s only been living in London for about four months now. After a rather disastrous affair with Alexander Vinciguerra, Gaby had been ostracized in Italy. She’d taken a job as one of the Vinciguerra’s mechanics but quickly caught the eye of Alexander. The affair had been a whirlwind event and Gaby was swept away by Alexander’s passion and romance. A girl raised by a chop shop wasn’t used to male attention that made her feel sexy or beautiful. She hadn’t realized, until it was all painfully over, that she’d been starved for it. 

The affair was short lived. Although his wife normally cast a blind eye on Alexander’s mistresses (it still sickens Gaby to realize that was what she was), a hint of a scandal had hit the family business. Anything that could have added to the flame needed to be eliminated. Her real uncle, Uncle Rudi, who had helped her secure the position, did nothing to help her in the end. Then again, Uncle Waverly had always felt more like an actual uncle than the one related to her. Uncle Rudi was cold and vindictive. When the loose ends of the Vinciguerra scandal were being wrapped up, he had no problems firing her and cutting his own ties. That was when Uncle Waverly told her that some acquaintances with a garage in London specializing in modified cars were looking for someone with an excellent knowledge of Italian and German engines. 

Gaby swore off men in a romantic capacity, packed what little she had and moved to London. It was a good choice. She is happier now than she’d ever been with Alexander. The guys at the garage are fun and actually respect her for her knowledge- not faked respect because she was sleeping with the owner. Gaby is even friends with some of their girlfriends. A few short months and her life is full of social events and drinks with people she actually enjoys spending time with. Still, a part of her wishes to be dating, even if she is not ready to let someone else close to her again. 

It still doesn’t mean that her father and Uncle can stick their nose to meddle. 

“Why are you so interested in my love life, all of a sudden?” Gaby asks with suspicion. 

“I am your father, is it not my job to be interested?” Udo sips his tea innocently. 

“You two are up to something, I just do not know what it is,” Gaby says, looking between the two men and trying to find any sign in their body language. She comes up with nothing. 

“I just…happen to know someone that I thought would be a good fit for you. You know, you shouldn’t let what happened with the Vinciguerras sully what thrill you had for life,” Waverly says lightly but Gaby’s brow furrows. 

“Is it…is this a pity date?” Gaby scoffs. Her stomach drops. If her father and Waverly thinks she needed to move on, then what does that mean? Does she look sad? She thought she’d been doing quite well for herself. “You know, there is a lot of merit in taking some time to get to know oneself.”

“No, of course, _schatz_ ,” Udo insists. “We just want to make sure that you are happy. I see that you are but sometimes, you get a far off look in your eyes. A man will not fix your troubles, I know. But I remember when I met your mother. The world seemed to fit into place in a way I had not realized it had never been before. I want the same for you. Love makes life more fulfilling. My life has improved tenfold now that you are back in it.” 

The sentiment touches Gaby’s heart. She knows her father has become much more sentimental since they lost so much time. When they lost her mother, he’d buried himself in work. When he lost Gaby, she is not entirely sure what he did. But when she first met him face to face after the years apart, she noticed he looked skinnier and sallower than her memories. They are both better for reconnecting, she knows, even if they do not speak much of the changes. 

“There’s a gentleman at work who I thought you’d get along with. An architecture there,” Waverly said, bringing Gaby out of her musings.  “You are under no obligation, of course.”

“Should the Vice-President of a company be setting up his employees with his niece?” Gaby ponders aloud and Waverly smirks. 

“I could always set up your meeting as an accident. Hope that he has the courage to ask you himself.” 

“Does he look like he has the courage?” Gaby challenges and Waverly takes a moment to think about it. Before he answers, unbidden words leave Gaby’s mouth before she can control them. “No matter, I have actually been seeing someone, so you don’t have to worry.” 

Both men’s brows rise in surprise. Gaby takes a long sip of her tea to hide her own surprise. Where the hell did that come from? 

“Oh? Tell us about him. Why is this the first time we are hearing of him?” Udo asks. 

“Because…I wanted to make sure it was serious,” Gaby insists, trying desperately to look calm and collected when in reality, she is panicking. She thought about all the men at her job that were single and she could lie about, but quickly throws that idea out. It would not be good to be dating someone at work again. She’s already learned that lesson. 

“And is it? Serious?” asks Waverly, looking at her like he doesn’t believe the story whatsoever. 

“I…am still not sure. He is nice. We’ve been on a few dates but it is still early,” lies Gaby. An image of a tall blond man takes up her thoughts and she can’t help the blush heating her cheeks. She’d been…flirting with the man that lived in the apartment across from her. Then again, was it flirting if the other person involved had no clue that was what you were doing? He’d never closed his curtains on her dancing and from the corner of her eyes, she thinks he blushes as he watches. So, she keeps telling herself that it’s working. “Maybe if we are still seeing each other in a month or so, I will introduce you to him.” 

“Tell me a little about him. What is his name?” Udo presses, a smile on his lips and delight in his eyes. 

“Ah, Alexi,” Gaby says. She doesn’t _actually_ know the name of her neighbor but she knows he is Russian. He listens to mostly Russian composers and many of the books on his shelf are in Russian. She’s not sure when her strange obsession with him began. Probably a few days after she had moved in, when she’d caught him playing chess alone. It looked to be a lonely scene at first glance but he appeared content. He’d also looked kind of cute, face determined and focused. Since then, she’d been slyly watching him going about his life. He is a tall, strong man built of muscle but there’s a tender, gentleness about him. He treats his chess board, books and knick-knacks with care. His taste in furniture and clothes were a little more on the grandpa side but it gave him a charming quality. Almost like he is a gentleman from another time. It’s endearing. It’s also helps her opinion that every time she sees him watching her, his glances are full of affection and shyness. 

Besides, Gaby had always been fond of bow ties. 

On a hunch, she decided that he must like ballet, if his choice in music was any indication. So, Gaby bought a transportable bar and started to practice. As she expected, she often catches him staring at her. She’d not really danced in a while but the muscle memory was still there. When she’d lived with her foster father, she would practice ballet on her own, even if she was no longer at the Academy. It felt nice to dance again and pretend that she was the pretty ballerina she’d wanted to be when she was a girl. A ballerina who fell in love with a Russian composer. A man that wrote music just for her to dance to. 

“So, a Russian fellow?” Waverly asks, a little more intrigued. 

“Yes. He’s from Moscow, originally,” Gaby continues after clearing her throat, a little worried at how she can lie so easily to the two most important people in her life. “Tall, blond. Prefers classical Russian music and literature. Also plays chess. He actually encouraged me to practice my ballet again.”

“Oh, I already like the sounds of him. Even if he is Russian,” her father teases but continues with more sorrow. “I will always regret you could not continue your lessons because of me. You were an angel on the stage.”

“Alexi doesn’t mind that my pirouettes are a little rusty or that my swan is a little ungraceful,” Gaby smiles, feeling herself get a little too enthused about the lie. Thinking back, she remembers seeing her neighbor pull out a box and polish a lot of martial arts trophies. She thought it was cute that he was modest even alone. The trophies went back into the box after he finished. “He also has interest in martial arts. Has a black belt in Taekwondo.”

“And his name is Alexi?” Waverly asks and Gaby nods, glad she was not asked to fact check if a black belt was the highest in Taekwondo. She’d said the first martial art style that came to her. Waverly appears to be in thought, trying to put the pieces of her story together. She wasn’t sure what was so unbelievable about it. Perhaps the fact she was dating someone who didn’t share her primary interest in fast cars or drinking. Or simply the fact she is dating a gentleman. She certainly doesn’t attract them. 

“Well, I hope we get to meet him. And I’m sorry that we made such an assumption,” Udo says, reaching out to take Gaby’s hand. Although Waverly agrees, she doesn’t think he buys the story. Perhaps Gaby can lie and claim things fizzle out in the next month or so. It is highly unlikely she will ever meet her Russian composer in real life. Also, much less likely that he’d want to date her. They seem to have very different social lives. Would they even work out? 

Thoughts like this still mean she is getting ahead of herself. Gaby shakes her head and asks questions about what she needs to know when she dog-sits for her father next week. As Schnitzel licks her fingers, Gaby sighs and decides that at least one man likes her. Even if he has been neutered. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> Herr: Sir  
> Schatz: Treasure 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> *I couldn't help but give Gaby a happier ending with her father :'(


	3. We Were Lost Before We Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Waverly may not be as good at setting up blind dates as he thought but Solo always wanted to be a knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't going to post this till next week but was compelled to do due to a mix of your lovely comments and my wanting to battle some sadness by being creatively productive. <3  
> Translations at the end as well as a song suggestion.

December rolls around and Gaby tells her father and Uncle Waverly that things have ended with Alexi. Her father seems disappointed and Waverly oddly passive. A part of her wanted to find someone to pretend to be ‘Alexi’ but she decides that verges into new levels of pathetic. Besides, she only knows one Russian man and he is one of the customers at the garage. The rich business man has a taste for fast German cars and drag races. He is pleased with Gaby’s flawless work (and some upgrades that others may frown upon). He once paid for her to come in on her day off with a case of hard to get Russian vodka. She highly doubts that Mr. Fedorov would be willing to be her pretend boyfriend out of the goodness of his heart. She also has a feeling that he knows Waverly personally.  

On the off chance that she ever meets her neighbor, she doesn’t think telling him she used him as a model for a fake boyfriend then asking if he’d be willing to make that reality, would endear her to him. So, Gaby continues to be single but doesn’t have the energy to try and keep up with a fake relationship, even if it’s kind of fun to imagine what her and Alexi would get up to. It’s a rather domestic relationship that she creates and she later finds that she misses it even if it was only in theory. 

Eventually, she lets Waverly set her up with his employee. No gimmicks or tests to see if he’s brave enough to ask her out. Just Waverly asking the poor man if he’d be willing to take his lonely niece out for a date. Gaby wonders if HR will have to get involved but Waverly is always polite and appropriate, even when discussing less than savory issues. It will probably pass over if it was even a problem to begin with. 

She sits at table in a pub called The Camel and listens politely as Thomas Lowin talks. And boy, does Thomas like to talk. At first, she wonders if it is just an automatic reaction from nervousness but about ten minutes into the date, Gaby realizes that Thomas just enjoys his own voice. It reminds her a little of Alexander. Although he’d never talked nearly as much, he had the same air of self-importance. That belief that whatever he said was akin to the act of Midas transforming everyday objects into gold. She’s not all that interested after fifteen minutes and wonders why Waverly thought they’d be a good match. A part of her worries that Waverly just assumes she likes the ‘Alexander’ types. Surely, he knows her better than that? Then again, she’d never been public about her affections outside of Alexander, so Waverly only had one man to guess from. 

Thomas is explaining the concept of a public garden he designed and is in the middle of constructing. Normally, she’d be interested. Gaby has always been curious about things she has little knowledge of but the way Thomas explains it, is so painful to listen to. One would think he invented ‘emotional architecture’ but how, with so few compelling emotions, is beyond Gaby. So, she prays the waitress will bring their food early and works her way through her drink very quickly. It is one of those rare occasions she wishes she were more of a lightweight because the vodka is not working fast enough. Even if the bartender doubled her drink because all the staff here recognize her by now. 

Although the man is handsome, Gaby doesn’t really feel much in the way of stirrings. She knows that looks are not everything and here is the proof. Honestly, she’d not cared so much about looks until she started working for the Vinceguerras, where appearance was key. It had been what helped Alexander sweep Gaby up. The natural suave, the handsomeness and pretty words she was not accustomed to. All glittering gold. 

She’d promised herself to not fall for that again. 

Thomas does not have the pretty words but he has obviously attempted suave. In fact, he looks a little out of place in the pub. With his nicely fitted designer suit and slicked back hair all forced in place. Gaby would have expected a man like him to take her to some high-class restaurant. She has the feeling Waverly talked him into bringing her to her favorite pub, instead. 

Taking another look at his outfit, she wishes he wore a bowtie, even if it wouldn’t have fit his ensemble. The thought comes out of nowhere. Gaby finds herself blushing at the fantasy that it is her nameless neighbor sitting across from her instead, Russian accent washing over her with warmth as he discusses his favorite opera or the best self-defense moves. She’d overheard him argue with someone named ‘Cowboy’ on the phone a couple weeks ago and the mere sound of his voice had made her knees weak. Remembering it now, she blushes even deeper and curses at herself for falling for a man she’s never met. 

A small smirk twists Thomas’ lips at the likely thought that he was the one that made her blush. Gaby resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a brash American accent says and Gaby sees Thomas’ face drop into utter disdain for a moment before he looks up with a forced smile. She follows the gaze to see an extremely handsome man in an even more expensive suit. He appears to have perfected the look Thomas was aiming for. Hair slicked back into a stylish coif and a suit that fits him as if he were a model. Though judging by his strong, square jaw and mischievous smile, Gabby wouldn’t be surprised if that were his profession. He certainly looks too handsome for his own good.  

“Solo. Fancy seeing you here. This doesn’t strike me as your…style,” Thomas says, a hint of annoyance in his voice but he tries to keep an air of pleasantness about him. Gaby can see through it. Though, she is unsure if the distaste is towards the location or the stranger. 

“Right back at you,” Solo says, attention turning towards Gaby with a wink. “Especially with such a lovely lady. I would have thought you’d be fine wining and dining. Personally, I stop in here on occasion for their pies. Love the Wildshroom pie.” 

“I like the Deerstalker,” Gaby offers. At first, Gaby scoffs at Solo’s polished good looks. She remembers every Vinciguerra party she ever attended and the sour personalities that often matched the beautiful people as they looked down on her. Still, she does not get this feeling from Solo. There is something easy about him. Although he appears to rival Thomas in snootiness, he has an air that suggests he’s lot more fun. Looks are not everything, Gaby reminds herself when she realizes she’s probably doing the exact thing that had been done to her. 

Something else tugs at a memory she cannot find. Solo looks a little familiar, but she cannot place him. “Reminds me of Germany. My foster father always made _hirschgulash_ when I was sad and the holidays make me homesick.” 

“Did he now?” Solo says as if it is the most fascinating anecdote. “Personally, I do love a nice _feuerzangenbowle_ around the holidays to cheer me up but haven’t found a place in London that does it quite right.”

His near perfect German accent raises Gaby’s brow but she is still delighted nonetheless. _Feuerzangenbowle_ is her favorite holiday drink. She remembers when she was little and her father would let her drink a tiny sip when he hosted his annual Christmas dinner for work friends. This leads the way to older memories. One of the few things she remembers of her mother include trips to the _Chistkindlmarkt_. Fond memories of walking through the town’s _Christkindlmarkt_ flow through her head. She can almost smell the incense from the _räuchermänner_ mingling with sausages and pastries, her mother’s laughter joining Gaby’s giggles. 

“I make a wonderful _feuerzangenbowle_ ,” Gaby brags because it’s true. “Perhaps if you’re nice enough, I could make it for you.” 

“Then, I’ll be on my best behavior,” swears Solo but from the twinkle in his eyes, Gaby knows that it’s a very light promise. 

“Not to be rude, Solo, but we’re in the middle of a date,” Thomas sneers, clearly agitated by Solo’s interruption and the fact that Solo commands more attention from Gaby now than Thomas has the entire evening.  

“Oh, you’re not being rude at all,” Solo smiles and takes the empty chair next to Gaby. She tries to hide her amusement by taking a slow sip of her drink. On the other hand, Thomas looks like he’s about to drag Solo out of the pub and punch him. “Though, _I_ may have been rude. Please excuse me. I was blinded by your beauty. My name is Napoleon Solo.” 

“Gaby Teller,” Gaby says blandly, taking the offered hand. She’s not impressed at his ‘blinded’ line but she is impressed by how much conviction he has as he says it. Her brow raises when he kisses her knuckles. “How do you two gentlemen know each other?”

“We’re work colleagues,” Solo speaks up quickly before Thomas can even mutter a word.

“Oh, so you’re an architect as well?” 

“Not exactly. I specialize in art and security but I have been doing a lot of what you could call interior design. Mostly for clients who want a more historically accurate touch or just a taste. Though, I like to think of myself as a Renaissance man. I get called in to do a lot of things,” Solo says with a grin.

Gaby is only half familiar with United Network Designs. They started as an innovative architect firm known for bold but beautiful designs. In the past few years, UND expanded to include different design departments and R&D. There were a lot of collaborations now with various companies ranging from eyeglass frames to tech based toys. Uncle Waverly does the impossible job of spearheading this speedy expansion while keeping the company profitable.  

A cough from Thomas tears Gaby’s attention from Solo’s arresting smile just for a moment. The cough sounded like it was trying to hide the word ‘thief’. For just a moment, Solo’s smile wavers and a sneer tugs at his lips but it disappears quickly. Although Gaby’s first assumption is the word refers to Solo’s less than gallant hijacking of the date, she has a feeling its more literal. 

“Nasty cough there. Maybe you should go home and rest up. Wouldn’t want to lose your voice before the presentation on Monday,” Solo tells Thomas and there’s a hint of a sinister warning in the words delivered with a velvety tone. Just as Thomas prepares for a scathing reprimand on Solo’s manners, Thomas’ mobile rings. He apologizes to Gaby and checks the screen. Whoever it is, sends him scrambling out of the noisy pub with another apology. 

“I do not know how you have managed to sit here and listen to him for so long. By this point in a meeting, Peril and I would have improved his design concept with a few passed notes,” Solo says smoothly, waving over the waitress with a wink. He orders a refill of his scotch neat and a request to have his pie delivered to the table instead of the bar. “Oh, Peril is another coworker with whom I often team up with. Considerably more interesting than Thomas.”

“What kind of name is Peril?” asks Gaby. 

“Nickname of mine. Short for Red Peril. He’s a Russian fellow but despite that flaw, is actually quite decent. Illya is his given name.” 

With just a hum, Gaby nods and takes a long sip of her drink. She savors it and thinks again about ‘Alexi’. In her mind, he is giving Solo a mildly annoyed glare. The one he reserves for looking over furniture instructions and the very few occasions he tries to recreate desserts from _The Great British Bake Off_ (both of which Gaby has seen her neighbor do, much to her delight). 

As she shakes the thought from her mind, Thomas rushes in and apologizes. The call was very important and he must meet up with someone for work. They say goodbye awkwardly and he assures her that he will contact her to set up another date. Gaby is not so sure she will answer. Once Thomas throws some money on the table, he leaves and Solo takes the vacated chair with a satisfied look. 

“You set up that call, didn’t you?” Gaby accuses. To his credit, Solo keeps an innocent face at Gaby’s quick breakdown of the situation. 

“Why, whatever do you mean, _fräulein_?” Solo asks with an innocence that she knows he is incapable of. 

“I’m curious, do you always cut in on coworkers’ dates or is this a new thing you are trying?” 

“The only thing I ever consider on a regular basis is saving a distressed woman from a terrible date. Although, Lowin possess the amazing talent of simultaneously being a stick in the mud while keeping a larger stick up his ass, entertainment is not his strong suit. And you, Miss Teller, look like you could use some entertainment,” Solo explains and Gaby can’t help but snort as she listens. His description of Thomas is very apt. At that moment, their food arrives and a different waitress brings Gaby a new drink without prompting. The waitress, Lily, is one of the mechanics’ girlfriends and has been to Gaby’s apartment for drinks quite a few times. She mentions to Gaby that she’s better off without that rude jerk and Gaby has to agree. Solo stays silent throughout the interaction.  

“You know, my uncle set up this date,” shrugs Gaby. “So, Thomas and I must have much in common.” 

“You’re Alex Waverly’s niece?” Solo asks with genuine surprise. At Gaby’s own surprise at how easily he guesses the identity of her uncle, he continues. “Lowin has been bragging about Waverly suggesting he date his niece this entire week. Drove everyone up the wall. I didn’t realize Waverly had a German niece.” 

“Uncle is a friendly term. He and my father worked together years ago. I met him when I was a little girl and it stuck.” 

“Udo Teller is your father, then?” 

“You are full of facts about me,” Gaby shifts in her seat, a little uncomfortable that this stranger seems to already be aware of so much in her life. 

“He’s stopped by Waverly’s office for lunch several times. Me, being the noisy busybody I am, introduced myself. I just connected your last name. Believe me, I haven’t done any research about you. Just coincidence.”

“Care to make it even?” suggests Gaby, catching Solo’s attention. His brow is raised slightly and he looks intrigued. “You already know so much about me, I should learn a deep, dark secret of yours.” 

“Deep, dark secret, huh?” Solo leans forward. 

“Yes, one that you have never uttered to anyone,” Gaby matches him and their elbows are on the table, heads bowed like they are confessing sins to one another. After a few beats, Solo makes a decision. 

“I love ABBA. My mother loves the group and all my sisters and I grew up listening to them. In fact, I’ve taken my mother and sisters to see _Mamma Mia!_ for a combination of eight times. I do not regret any of those eight showings,” Solo says, leaning back and taking a bite of his pie to wait for her reaction. The admission takes Gaby by complete surprise. While she has noticed that Solo has a knack for lying, she doesn’t second guess this. Eventually, she just breaks down into a fit of giggles at the image of him sitting front row and singing along to the musical. 

“This is the reaction I get after confessing my deepest, darkest secret?” Solo asks, feigning hurt but he does join in on her laughter. “If you don’t believe me, name any ABBA song and I can sing it word for word.” 

“You don’t have to prove it but I do think it earns you some _feuerzangenbowle_ ,” Gaby smiles and the both lift their glasses in cheers. The night has certainly become more interesting. She toys with the idea of sleeping with Solo but it doesn’t hold much appeal. Besides, she gets the feeling that although he is a lady’s man, he’s not hunting for a bedmate this evening. Perhaps this is just the beginning of a beautiful friendship? 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hirschgulash: A Bavarian deer stew  
> Feuerzangenbowle: A traditional German alcoholic drink where a rum- soaked sugarloaf is set on fire and drips into mulled wine   
> Chistkindlmarkt: Christmas markets in Germany   
> Räuchermänner: Incense smokers shaped to look like various figures     
> Fräulein: Miss
> 
> ****  
> If anyone was wondering what I imagined Gaby dancing to in the first chapter after Cry To Me, [it's Whippin' by Kiiara.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4rsVVeoBRM)  
> ;) I very much feel that song describes her relationship with Alexander Vinciguerra, at least how I've developed it for this fic. Song lyrics are a tad NSFW because of curse words.


	4. I Got Way Too Many Feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solo is always up to something and 9 times out of 10, Illya disapproves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to you guys for the reviews and kudos! The next two chapters are a little short so I'll be posting the next one once this is up. <3

Illya is not sure why he isn’t in bed yet. Yes, it is a Friday night but he tends to sleep early if he can, as he prefers to rise early. Also, there isn’t any logical reason for him to fight off sleep. He can always finish his book tomorrow while enjoying Little Chop Shop’s ballet recital. She had dressed up in a beautiful dress and stocking combination before leaving earlier that day. Schnitzel is not at the apartment and Illya has long since guessed that the little dog is just a friend’s. But it is late and Illya worries that Little Chop Shop has gotten into some trouble. She never stays the night at other houses, at least so far as he’s noticed. Illya doesn’t even want to think how that concerned call to the police would sound.

Just as he closes his book, there is sound and movement in Little Chop Shop’s apartment. With horror, he sees her wobbling into the apartment with a few small paper bags and a gentleman. She’s been drinking and is talking animatedly with the man. It takes about five seconds for Illya to realize the man is in fact, Napoleon Solo. 

Slack jawed, Illya watches as Solo helps her unload spices, oranges and quite a few bottles of alcohol on the little bit of kitchen counter he can see. Little Chop Shop takes off her heels and skips to her room. Solo follows her a quarter of the way but stops in the living room with a fond smile. Rage starts to flow through Illya’s veins. The world becomes red and he feels his finger twitch in the warning sign that a break is approaching. Counting his breaths, Illya tries to stave off the energy that wants to escape. Solo turns his head and sees Illya. The idiot offers a smile and wave. The smile falters when he takes in Illya’s body. 

Rushing to the window, Solo opens it and puts his finger to his lips in a warning to keep quiet. Illya opens his adjacent window and growls. 

“ _What do you think you are doing_?” Illya commands. He can feel his breath becoming uneven again and he fights with all his strength to keep from tearing the window frame and chucking it at Solo’s head. He focuses on studying the way his breath floats into the cold December air.

“Now, now, this is not what it looks like,” Solo promises, raising his hands in a nonthreatening manner. 

“I am going to kill you,” Illya swears and is proud of himself that it comes out steady. 

“Hey, there’s no need for that. In fact, I saved her from a terrible date with Thomas Lowin. Had Crews call in a fake issue with that horrible garden he designed.”

“So, you made sure Lowin wasn’t around so you could sleep with her instead?” Illya accuses and Solo rolls his eyes as the suggestion. A part of Illya is secretly relieved that Solo was able to interfere at least in that capacity. Lowin is an idiot and Illya has had many fantasies of turning him into a pretzel. He’s heard Lowin talk about women. Little Chop Shop should never be talked about in that way. 

“I thought you weren’t even interested in her,” Solo shoots back but it only earns him an almost inhuman growl from Illya. When Illya starts to climb through the window with every intention of jumping the distance, Solo lifts a hand to concede. “No, that wasn’t my plan. My plan was to befriend her before I introduce the two of you. I have your best interest at heart. I just can’t introduce you right now. That would raise some flags and little Gaby here is actually very smart. I know you’ve been watching her through the window like a sad, old, lonely man but I doubt that’s the first impression you want to make on her.” 

Although Solo has insulted him, Illya ignores him as he feels some of the tension ease from his body. Gaby. Her name is Gaby. He wants to say it out loud and feel it roll off his tongue. His Little Chop Shop Ballerina is named Gaby. His chest feels lighter at the knowledge. Shaking his head, Illya reminds himself that Solo is still in Gaby’s apartment at a late hour. 

“So, if you are taking your friendship slow, why are you in her apartment right now?” Illya asks but is it an obvious accusation. Solo takes it with stride. 

“She offered to make me _feuerzangenbowle_. And _I_ decided that I would join her to make sure she doesn’t burn down the apartment. Like a gentleman,” says Solo defensively. “You know, she got everything we needed at the pub we were at. Convinced the owner to sell her three bottles of wine, some rum, oranges, cloves- everything! All at a discounted price. It was actually impressive.”  

“You are to make sure she does not hurt herself and then go home immediately,” Illya orders and Solo looks amused at the command. 

“Ungrateful. That’s what you are,” deadpans Solo. “Y’know, I already mentioned you a couple times in passing and I think she may be interested. I actually think she might have a kink for Russians. It’s possible she’ll expect you to act like an over the top Commie spy. At the very least in bed. You’re okay with that, right?” 

“If you lay a hand on her, I will kill you,” Illya warns before pinching the bridge of his nose because he cannot believe he is even having this conversation with Solo through two windows. A headache is coming on and normally the best way to alieve it is to destroy whatever he can lay his hands on. But that is not an option. That would be a foolish reaction for a woman he hardly knows. Yet, there is still a pang in his heart. The unwavering clench of betrayal. 

“You already said that,” Solo says, not at all threatened. To get his point across, Illya slams his hand on the window frame. The glass rattles and Solo jumps minutely. “Wait, I think she’s coming back out.” 

“I am going for a walk. You better be gone when I come back,” Illya warns, letting out a sound of frustration as he shuts his window. All he sees is Solo shrugging before Illya grabs his coat and keys. He knows that if he waits long enough to watch Gaby walk back into the living room, he will lose all semblance of control.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a Gaby/Illya mix if anyone is interested. Not necessarily related to this fic but it helps me write for the pairing. [You can find it at 8Tracks.](https://8tracks.com/artificialink/i-am-who-i-want-with-you/edit#)  
> 


	5. Man With A Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solo has big plans and Waverly is acting strange.

The first thing Illya does when he sees Solo on Monday is to drag the man down into a painful chokehold. Again, Waverly catches them but simply advises Illya not to choke his partner over little details like color schemes. It is only when Solo is on the cusp of blacking out, does Illya let go. Once Solo gains his composure back (a feat that takes a full twelve minutes and that placates Illya somewhat), he continues to insist that everything is going according to Plan. 

The Plan is always capitalized every time Solo mentions it and it makes Illya’s eyes roll in accordance. While Illya appreciates Solo putting so much energy into this, he continues to ask the American to just leave things be. If he and Gaby (just thinking about her name gives him butterflies and he frowns at the sensation) were ever meant to be, fate would have already intervened. Given that Illya does not believe in fate, it was thus doomed before he set his eyes on her. Despite this abject view on life, Solo persists in helping ‘true love’ find its way with an increasingly elaborate plan. 

Between deadlines before the holidays, trips back home and Solo trying not to arouse Gaby’s suspicions that he’s only friends to set her up, The Plan moves at an excruciatingly slow pace. Of course, this does not make Illya exempt from hearing every little detail about her from Solo or watching them hang out in her apartment in the evenings. While the details from Solo help to fuel Illya’s fantasies (this could be argued as a bad thing, with this unhealthy obsession now becoming more intricate), he cannot help but feel guilty. He is slowly learning so much about Gaby but he wants to hear it from her. Not from Solo. 

Also, Illya begins to see that Solo is becoming thick as thieves with Gaby and this progression is genuine. Of course, Illya is jealous even if he will not admit it. Solo easily becomes her good friend while Illya has never even talked to her. It’s embarrassing. Eventually, he forbids Solo from talking about Gaby. This irks Solo but the man is unable to fully describe his annoyance before he goes back to America for Christmas. 

The silence is welcome, if surprisingly lonely for once. Gaby spends less time in her apartment until she is missing completely and Illya wonders if she is out of the country for the holidays. It’s a detail that Solo never got to before the imposed ban. Normally, Illya would visit his mother but she decided to join an over fifties singles cruise. His father has been dead for five years and his mother gets lonely with her only son out of the country. Illya cannot blame her for wanting companionship but the mere thought of what she may be getting up to makes Illya cringe, so he does not think about it. They do make plans for Illya to visit later in January for Old New Year as well as Women’s Day in March (Illya does like to spoil his mother like any good Russian boy). He just prays she does not show him a slide show of the pictures. 

All of this simply means he works even more to distract himself from the women in his life giving him a headache (yes, Solo is included on this list). Waverly comments on the extra hours that Illya is working. Lately, Illya has found that the Vice President has been watching him more closely. He wonders if it is a good or bad thing. There have been no major complaints from his projects and everyone still seems to rave over what his teamwork with Solo produces. Despite this, Waverly has begun to unnerve Illya. 

Occasionally, the man will quietly enter Illya’s space and ask the most mundane questions. They range from what Illya’s neighborhood is like to what his opinions on ballet are. He even once asked Illya if he went by the nickname ‘Alexi’. Normally, all rather normal inquiries, other than the name. But Waverly is known around the office to never really stoop down to small talk, much less initiate it. There is also an undercurrent of over investment in each question, as if the world depends on Illya’s answers. Illya decides to bring more work home with the sole reason to of avoiding Waverly until the man finds a different interest around the office. Although Illya is never one to back down from struggle, he finds that he gets more work done without Waverly breathing down his neck for personal information. 

Solo returns to London with a bang on December 29th as if he never left but is now full of even more useless chatter. They exchange gifts, neither one realizing the other had bought one. Solo gets a pair of hammer and sickle cufflinks and Illya gets a tie. Both are gag gifts but strangely thoughtful. While Illya constantly jokes about turning Solo into a true comrade, Solo is always complaining about Illya’s bowties not working with his suits. For one brief moment, Illya realizes he missed Cowboy. That all ends when the first thing Solo says to Illya after exchanging gifts is: Did Mama Kuryakin lock eyes with the second love of her life over a titillating game of shuffleboard? 

Before Illya can get righteously indignant, Solo begins to cajole him into attending a New Year’s Eve party. While it could be nice, he is simply not interested in what Solo describes as ‘the most scrumptious party of the year’. No party worth going to was ever described with words used for food. At least, no party for any proud Russian. Despite this, Illya eventually agrees to go. Some work colleagues that Illya does not find horrible will be going. He tells Solo that he will go after he makes an appearance at the other parties he has been invited to by his Russian friends still in London for the holidays. This floors the American who still incorrectly assumes that Illya has no friends. 

When Solo hands Illya a ticket for the Sky Garden New Year’s Eve Party, Illya is genuinely surprised. It is an expensive party and Illya had never intended to pay more than £15 for an entrance fee for anything in his life. As he tells Solo that he does not want to pay, Solo just shrugs and says it’s taken care of. Apparently, Solo did a favor for the owner and the tickets were a thank you. While Illya is curious like any human being, he does not want the details of the ‘favor’. The less he knows about Solo’s less than legal side jobs, the better. That way, he cannot be roped into them and Solo has certainly tried. 

They fall back into an easy conversation about Solo’s family and his plot that tested Frank’s love of Paulette (the young man just barely passed but it only means that Solo will be as diligent as ever to find a slip up). Not once is The Plan mentioned. Illya finds himself a little disappointed even if he was the one to forbid it. 

 


	6. Then We Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby takes charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday! So I'm gonna give you guys a present for being so lovely :)

Gaby would have never dreamed that she’d be _invited_ to a New Years Eve Party at the Sky Garden. By an owner, no less. But here she is, standing on the terrace and looking at the twinkling view as London anticipated the new year. Then again, a week ago, she’d never thought she would have helped Solo in a heist but Gaby could not deny how her life has increasingly grown with excitement since meeting the American. They’d become fast friends and she already sees Solo like a brother. A brother that gets her into trouble but then again, Gaby expects nothing less from a sibling. 

The heist itself was for a good cause. At least, according to Solo but Gaby’s become quite good at knowing when he is lying or not. It was for a ‘client’ that had been having some difficulty getting a sentimental piece of artwork back and Solo had even waived his fee. Then again, he’d also stolen a couple of things from the targeted house and she has a feeling that was his objective the entire time. Gaby did not ask much about it because three days after the heist, the target (who was a seedy man) was arrested. The _intended_ artwork was originally owned by their client a few years ago but was stolen and he’d only heard through rumors that it was sitting in a private room of another man’s home. It was to be a revenge/ ‘heart of gold’ heist and those were high on Solo’s favorite list, behind the ‘cat burgling because you can’ heist. 

Gaby has yet to ask Solo how many heists he’s performed because that might incriminate her more. Until she’s sure the police aren’t looking for her, she’s not ready for that. She got the impression that it was a large number, though. At first, she was conflicted with the request but her distaste with the seedy thief who dabbled in human trafficking and continued to elude police, won out. So, she helped him case the area surrounding a large, private home just outside of London while also planning how to be the best getaway driver.  

The heist went by without a hitch but Gaby spent the following days worried the police would knock on her door. There’d been no such incident. Both she and Solo separated quickly after delivering the small painting, him going to America and her spending Christmas in the countryside with her father. Gaby eventually relaxed and enjoyed her holidays. 

As a result of the events this past week, including her taking extra hours at the garage, there hadn’t been much Alexi-watching. She’d not even been able to dance ballet on Sunday. She has noticed an increase of clutter in his apartment, such as building designs and forgotten tea cups, which is not like Alexi. Gaby hopes that he is doing okay and worries the holidays are a sore time for him. Perhaps he has painful memories around this time of the year. She wishes she could gain the courage to try and talk to him through her window, even if for a comment on the weather. 

But Gaby does her best to not let her imaginary ex distract her from the evening. She weaves through the crowd on the terrace and heads back into the garden for another drink and perhaps a snack. Out of the heist, Gaby and Solo got free tickets to the Sky Garden’s New Year’s Eve party and free drinks all night from their client, David Glover. He was one of the owners of Land Securities, a company which owned 20 Fenchurch street. It would be a fun night, Gaby was certain and she’d already taken advantage of her unlimited drinks. 

When she grabs another vodka and tonic, she casts an eye to try and find Solo but he’s disappeared. It’s not a surprise. Gaby did not assume he would babysit her tonight. She did assume that he would find a beautiful woman to share midnight’s kiss and maybe more with. Gaby had the same intentions, though for a male partner. Somehow, Solo had convinced her that she needed to get back out into the dating world. He is so convinced that a Prince Charming is awaiting her here tonight. His enthusiasm is kind of sweet, though she worries that he is more invested in what happens to her tonight than she is. 

Solo returned from visiting his family in good spirits overall. Apparently, he was having some trouble accepting the boyfriend of one his sisters but Gaby told him to open his mind up. What she was not expecting though, was him to present her with a beautiful dress as a Christmas present. It eclipsed the deer stew she’d made him and a jug of wheat beer that she and her father fermented in Waverly’s wine cellar. Though, she has the feeling that Solo was more pleased with the knowledge that his boss lets his old friend and ‘niece’ use his cellar for German brewing purposes than the actual beer itself. 

Gaby wears the dress tonight and it makes her feel like Odette from Swan Lake. Hopefully, she does not turn into a swan at dawn. The dress is a muted pink with floral decal. It’s tight across her chest and the skirt is made of tulle that falls to her mid-calf. A black velvet ribbon loops over her shoulder as straps, crossing under her breasts and finishing in a neat bow on her stomach. It’s easy to tell from the fabric and stitching that this is no cheap dress. Certainly, a dress fit for a prima ballerina. At least, that’s what Solo had insisted fondly. It fits her perfectly and she isn’t surprised that Solo had been able to guess her size. He even helped her pick out pink satin heels and a simple tiny, gold bowtie necklace. Gaby wonders if he’s trying to live vicariously through her somehow but she also knows that he simply has a lot of opinions on clothes, women’s or otherwise. He’s a little like a fairy godmother and Gaby certainly relayed this to him. It was received surprisingly well. 

It’s about 10 PM now and the floors are filling up with people who don’t have private viewing areas. With much difficulty, Gaby denies the desire to twirl in rhythm with the music. She did so earlier that evening in her living room as she waited for Solo to pick her up. Unfortunately, Alexi wasn’t in his apartment to watch. He left a couple hours earlier, looking quite dapper in a brown suit. If she hadn’t been waiting for Solo, she’d probably also have left around the same time and might have run into him on the street. But, Solo had been adamant on not showing up to the party on time. Since it was New Year’s Eve, Gaby appreciated having such a tall friend to lead the way and part the crowds in London as they made their way to the Sky Garden. So, she swallowed her complaints.  

But now she’d lost the tall friend and that left her alone to socialize in a roomful of strangers. In her mind, she imagined that she would be a social butterfly, floating from one group to another and leaving little bits of witty one-liners along the way. The reality is very different. It appears that most everyone here has at least one friend they arrived with and all are quite occupied with their own world. Several men have approached Gaby and attempted small talk but her heart really isn’t in it, even if she hears Solo’s voice in the back of her mind encouraging her to take a romantic leap of faith.

So, she grits her teeth in what she hopes is an alluring manner and talks to a few more men, even getting their numbers but making no promises on who she will kiss at midnight. She’s able to pass another half hour this way. Soon, she snaps a few pictures of the hustle and bustle for her father, as well as the skyline. He is with Uncle Waverly at a party that is probably a tad classier than this one. At least, classier to an older crowd. Just as she hits send, she takes a closer look at one of the pictures and is shocked to find a familiar blond head in the dark crowd. Gaby looks up to find Alexi staring at her from across the room. They must be sharing similar looks of shock. What surprises her even more is that Solo saddles up next to Alexi and places a familiar hand on his shoulder. Alexi jumps at the touch but relaxes slightly when he recognizes Solo. They share a few whispered words and it looks like an argument is about to start but instead, Solo just grips his hand tighter on Alexi’s shoulder and motions for Gaby to walk over. 

She meets the men halfway. The closer she walks towards Alexi, the clammier her palms become and the faster her heart beats. Gaby never thought she’d actually _meet_ her neighbor and now she’s not sure what to say despite the numerous times she’d fantasized about this. Not that it’s any consolation but she notices his hands clenching and unclenching, feet shifting balance and him avoiding her gaze nervously.  

“Gaby! You must meet Illya Kuryakin. The Red Peril. That coworker I’ve mentioned,” Solo introduces with a wink, hand still tight on Alex- no, _Illya’s_ shoulder. Now Solo’s free hand moves to her lower back to pull her in closer. Gaby can smell Illya’s cologne and the spicy scent causes a horde of butterflies to swarm in her stomach. She’s glad it’s too dark to make out her blush. She likes the name Illya much more than Alexi. “And Peril, this is my new partner in crime, Gaby.”

At her title, Gaby scoffs in amusement and Illya frowns slightly, taking moment to glare at Solo. Yes, just like looking at ill made furniture and puddings. She hides her smile behind her drink.  

“Cowboy, if you are recruiting more people for-” Illya begins, lowering his voice but it still is somewhat loud in order to be heard over the music. The nickname catches Gaby’s attention. 

“Cowboy? _You’re_ Cowboy?” Gaby asks Solo and both men raise their brows in surprise. Turning her attention to Illya, Gaby offers a small shrug and tentative smile. “I…I overheard you shouting to someone named ‘Cowboy’ once on the phone.”  

“Do…the two of you know each other?” Solo asks with innocence that only works on complete strangers. Gaby and Illya both send unconvinced looks his way. 

“She lives in the building across from me,” Illya says blandly as Solo’s face lights up with surprise. 

“Does she now? What a fortunate stroke of serendipity!” exclaims Solo with a proud grin, as if he is a little Boy Scout earning his first patch. “Now, why don’t the two of you get to know each other. Peril here doesn’t have many friends and has some difficulty making them.” 

“I have plenty of friends,” Illya rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation. Obviously, they’ve had this conversation before. “As I told you, I attended two other parties before this one. Parties where I am not insulted.” 

“Yeah, I still think time spent with these ‘friends’ is just you talking to a mirror,” Solo shoots back and Illya’s eyes narrow. Not seeming to notice the dirty look or maybe simply being used to the glare, Solo pats Gaby’s back and Illya’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll let the two of you become more aquatinted. I, on the other hand, will be getting more aquatinted with the pretty little number in that emerald gown.” 

They follow Solo’s gaze and find a tall, ethereal woman in a floor length gown waving coyly at Solo. He gives the elfin woman a wink and follows her through the crowd without sparing Gaby or Illya another glance. Illya is the first turn his gaze away with an annoyed huff. Just as Gaby does the same, Solo turns before being swallowed by the crowd and sends her a pair of thumbs up. Illya clearing his throat interrupts Gaby rolling her eyes. She looks up at the sheepish man towering above her and thinks maybe she can make out a blush on his cheeks. 

“Ahem, it is nice to meet you,” Illya says with a nod. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Gaby agrees and bites her bottom lip when she cannot think of anything to say that won’t completely embarrass her. She supposes this is akin to meeting James Van Der Beek (she saved up and bought a poster of him when she was 13). Although she feels that she knows so much about Illya, she highly doubts he knows much about her. Solo has quite frequently mentioned ‘Peril’ from work and the antics they got up to. Obviously, she had no idea that Illya was Alexi. It’s all very confusing melding the two men together. 

“You are a graceful dancer,” Illya blurts out and Gaby can tell that he immediately regrets it. “Ah, I mean, I never meant to stare.” 

“No, thank you. If I didn’t want you to see, I would have shut my curtains,” admits Gaby, warmth filling her veins at the shy smile on Illya’s face as he looks away. “Besides, it is not like people are clamoring to watch me on stage.” 

“You performed my favorite _Swan Lake_ ,” Illya insists gently and Gaby cannot stop the grin that breaks out. She knows it is probably an embellished white lie but it is sweet, nonetheless. When she catches Illya’s eyes, he looks genuinely pleased that he could be the cause of such a smile. “How long have you been dancing?” 

“Oh, my first lesson was when I was 4. My father says that the teacher tried to kick me out of class because I was uncoordinated but my parents would not have it. I suppose I learned quickly after that. I had to stop though, when I was 11 and my dreams of joining the Stuttgart Ballet were crushed. But I can assemble a V8 engine in an hour and a half, if I really hurry. I suppose that is some sort of accomplishment,” Gaby explains and a sadness washes over Illya’s face. There is no pity in it, though. “But I do like being a mechanic. It’s the only thing that gives me a sense of accomplishment, other than dance.” 

“The world of ballet missed out on a treasure,” Illya says sincerely. “Though, I suppose if I ever have car trouble, I will have to find you.” 

“I do not think you could afford me as a mechanic,” teases Gaby, skin tingling at the sound of Illya’s laughter. 

“Perhaps not. I _would_ have to buy a car first.” 

 

* * *

 

The rest of the evening goes by in a blissed blur. Gaby and Illya find a quiet corner on the terrace to chat. Gaby learns about Illya and finds that she likes him much more than Alexi. If she was half in love when she knew the man as Alexi and watched him through the window, then she is beyond curing now that she knows him in real life. They laugh and joke and talk about each other’s present lives, pasts and dreams of the future. Illya wants to design a building that can be seen in the skyline of a capital while Gaby hopes to work in a team for the Monaco Grand Prix. Sometimes, Illya regrets never becoming a world chess champion and Gaby wonders if she can try and become a ballerina again. They both want to travel through Spain and Malaysia. Both have similar opinions on the best way to age venison, adore Sue Perkins and aren’t fans of the never-ending _Transformers_ franchise. They also both find Solo’s antics annoying but occasionally endearing and wonder if he weaseled his way into their hearts first or the other way around. It is agreed that Solo should never hear that part. 

Out on the terrace, Gaby is able to get a better look at his outfit. There are small blue pinstripes in his brown suit. His shirt is mint and the ensemble is pulled together by a silk navy and juniper tie. Gaby cannot help but stroke the tie or tap his gold rook tie bar every so often, wishing she could tweak one of his many bow ties instead. Still, every time she touches his tie, Illya’s entire face turns pink and she rather likes that. In return, Illya gathers the strength to twirl the ends of the bow on her stomach around his finger. The closer the clock ticks to midnight, the more people try to pile onto the terrace. Gaby uses that as an excuse to stand closer to Illya. Although she stopped drinking about an hour ago, she feels like she’s drunk 4 more drinks in that span. Being near Illya and drinking in his voice is doing that to her and she doesn’t mind one bit. She loves the underlying smell of smoky spice and sandalwood that surrounds him. It makes her dizzy and light headed. The butterflies in her stomach dance every time he laughs or even just smiles. 

Yes, she is way over her head. It should be frightening but by the minute mark, she realizes she doesn’t care. She wants to be caught in the undertow and surrounded by Illya. So, just before the clock strikes midnight, she grabs his tie and uses it to drag his lips to hers. 

 


	7. Bad At Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both love birds battle insecurity and Solo offers pearls of wisdom at a discounted price. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey guys. Sorry for the wait. I've been dealing with some life stuff. Also, sorry to rain on the parade '>.<  
> But you're comments and kudos have been so lovely and fueling my determination to write faster now.

Gaby’s entire body hums the moment her lips meet Illya’s. The crowd around them cheering, the band playing Auld Lang Syne and the hissing and booms should all make for a deafening sound. Instead, all Gaby can hear is Illya’s surprised noise that she swallows in her mouth. All she can feel is the way Illya’s stiff body softens as she places a hand on the back of his neck, then finally, the way his lips move with hers. 

Letting go of his tie, Gaby uses her now free hand to pull Illya’s body even closer to hers, even if they are already standing in a pushing mass on the terrace. She doesn’t want the kiss to end but also doesn’t want to stay here in the crowd. Her hands itch to roam his body, unbutton the neatly pressed dress shirt and muss his hair so that it stands at all ends. There’s humor somewhere in the fact that this polite, mild mannered man makes her want to be so wild and daring. 

She’s never been the one to make the first move in relationships, despite how pushy she can be in all other aspects of her life. Instead of ripping Illya’s clothes off in public, Gaby settles with just putting all her want and dizzying excitement into the kiss. She’s not sure if she pulls it off but when they break apart to take deep breaths, she can feel Illya’s rapid pulse beating under her palm. It may be faster than hers. As she looks into his eyes, she sees shock lined on his face but she hopes that the feeling of weightlessness that’s permeated her bones is also soaking into his. 

Illya opens his mouth but it just hangs, as if he’s lost the ability to form words. Eventually, he gets out a couple words but it’s all in Russian. It makes Gaby grin and blush even if she can’t understand it. 

Unfortunately, Gaby isn’t given much time to enjoy the fact that she’d just reduced Illya to only being able to speak his native tongue. She watches as Illya stands up straight and sadness furrows his brow. He gently tugs her hands away from his body and lets them fall limply to her sides. At the motion, her chest tightens. 

“I…I must go. I am sorry,” Illya manages to say regretfully in English before turning his back on her and forcing his way through the crowd. Everyone around them resists but he is a determined force to be reckoned with and before Gaby realizes what is happening, he’s gone. 

A stone weighs her down and nausea clenches her gut. Tears prickle her eyes but she refuses to cry over another man even if it feels like her heart has been ripped out of her chest and beaten into pieces. This feels worse than when Alexander had dumped her, via her Uncle. Yet, that’s ridiculous because she doesn’t even really know Illya. It shouldn’t hurt more. 

Despite her best attempts, a few tears fall. The sound around her slowly comes back and she tries to bury herself in the joy of the people around her. A new year means new beginnings and hope but all she can think about are the old fears and insecurities. She may be dressed like a pretty ballerina but she’ll always be a chop shop rat. 

 

* * *

 

The first day back at work following New Year’s Day sees Illya hunching at his desk, cursing the open floor plan of the office and wishing the floor would swallow him then send him to a dimension where he isn’t an awkward buffoon around beautiful, lithe women. He does not get that wish but luckily, Solo has yet to appear. Illya has not spoken to Solo since the party but he has the feeling that Solo’s talked to Gaby. Or, perhaps Solo simply left them both alone, assuming they were busy this entire time in a bed. While the latter option offers more time for Illya to not face Solo’s disappointment, it also reminds him how differently the night could have ended if he hadn’t run out in fear. Because of all the things Illya would run away from, it would have to be a beautiful woman kissing him. 

It would have been funny if it wasn’t so pathetic. That night, Illya had drank more than his share of vodka at the previous parties. Not enough to incapacitate him but enough to let his insecurities arise at the most inopportune moment. It’s one of the reasons that Illya doesn’t really drink to excess. He becomes an emotional drunk and that either manifests as an angry man or a sad man. As a sad man, he could not believe that Gaby could actually be interested in him. That the woman of his dreams reached out of her own volition and kissed him. A part of him feared that even her actions away from Solo were still controlled by the American or simply from too much alcohol. Another part of him didn’t want to ruin Gaby with his past and his anger that still simmers just underneath the surface. A bigger part of him doesn’t think he deserves her and that is the man sitting at his desk.  

Her curtains have been closed since the party and it only served as a horrible, constant reminder. Still, he’s keeping his curtains open just in case. He’s either a hopeless fool or a masochist. Probably both. Growing up in Russia, Illya had been a shy, skinny, knobby-kneed boy. Making friend was difficult and not aided when his father had gone to prison after embezzling from the Russian government. Obviously, it had been more complicated than that, as it often can be with the Russian government, but children do not always see the shades of grey and corruption. 

At least then, he had his anger as a channel. The anger was better than sadness but they remained his default emotions when he lost control. Despite the Judo championships, the graduating top of his class and working to build a new reputation for himself, it seems that Illya is destined to stay that skinny, sad, angry little boy. And skinny, sad, angry little boys don’t get to kiss the beautiful prima ballerina. 

Looking at his father’s watch, Illya lets out a sigh. Perhaps Solo won’t come in at all today. He tamps down the small flair of annoyance as he thinks about how they were told to ‘hit the ground running’ after the holidays, because he’d rather avoid Solo if the topic is Gaby. About five minutes after Illya continues what work he can without Solo, a buzz sounds from his top drawer where he keeps his mobile. Normally, Illya ignores any texts or calls he gets until lunch but when a second buzz sounds soon after, curiosity gets the better of him. 

 

Message from: Cowboy

Sent: 10:47AM

Meet me in conference room B. Wallpaper emergency.

 

Sent: 10:48AM

NOW!!

 

Rolling his eyes, Illya stands up and decides that perhaps Solo doesn’t know about the disastrous party exit. So, he can hold off hearing Solo complain about Illya’s inability to woo any woman. He heads to conference room B, which is a floor below him. Although there’s an open floor plan for most of the employees, there are several conference rooms for teams to work in, if need be. Although Solo and Illya were normally just a duo for quite a bit of pulmonary work, they preferred to share a conference room so they could argue as loudly as they needed or simply cut off distractions. 

The door is already cracked open when Illya arrives. 

“Okay Cowboy, what is the matter? Too many floral wallpapers to choose from?” Illya says as he enters the room. The moment he steps in, he tenses. The room is empty. As he turns his head, a large body tackles him to the ground and Illya falls with a loud exhale of air. Before he can make heads or tails of the situation, he realizes that Solo has him in a chokehold on the ground. It is a little embarrassing that Illya has been taken down so easily but he supposes that it’s highly likely Solo knows what happened over New Year’s and really, Illya probably deserves this so he doesn’t fight back. Much. 

“What the hell did you do to Gaby?” Solo grinds out, tightening the hold on Illya’s neck. Illya feels himself becoming a little lightheaded and realizes that perhaps he’s slightly miscalculated how much Solo cares for Gaby. “She was in tears when I saw her after the fireworks. I could hardly get a coherent word out of her. Rambled on in German. Something about chop shops and rats.” 

“Ah…I suppose I am the rat, then,” Illya admits in a tight voice. 

“I give you the perfect girlfriend on a gold platter and you still ruin it! You know how long I planned this out? Everything was going according to _The_ _Plan_. Even better than I originally thought The Plan would go, too! Somehow, Gaby was already head over heels for you without even meeting you because she’d made up some Russian boyfriend to get her dad and Waverly off her back about dating. Wasn’t hard to figure out she used you as a template. Though at this point, not sure why.”

“She what?” asks Illya. The lack of oxygen to his brain is making him dizzy and he knows he will pass out in a minute or so if Solo doesn’t not let go. 

“Oh dear, this year is certainly starting off with a new twist,” Waverly says in drool amusement. Both men look up to find the Vice President of United Network Designs standing in the doorway, his usual patience for their antics slipping if the thin line of his lips are any indication. Solo lets go of Illya and stands up while Illya takes a moment to let the blood flow normally to his brain. 

“Well sir, you know how emotional I can get about wallpaper,” Solo lies with a tight smile. Waverly raises an eyebrow. 

“You know, Solo, you always struck me as the type to be more passionate about haberdashery,” Waverly says. 

“Oh, believe me, I am,” Solo says somberly. “I once punched a man for wearing a bowtie with the wrong suit.” 

Illya rolls his eyes at the jab and slowly stands up, doing his best to not to become dizzy again. He leans on the table.  

“Yes well, I actually came here to talk with Mr. Kuryakin. Perhaps when the two of you are finished with your…disagreement, he can meet me in my office?” 

Waverly doesn’t wait for a response, simply turning on his heel and walking away. It seems that the new year also brought back the terse Vice President and hopefully that also means less of his hovering around Illya. That doesn’t lessen any concern on Illya’s part entirely. He just hopes this impromptu meeting isn’t a sign of project gone terribly wrong. 

“Did you have to lie about why you wanted to meet me?” Illya asks and Solo shrugs. 

“I needed the element of surprise if I was going to successfully take you down,” Solo admits shamelessly and Illya wonders if there’s a compliment in there somehow. “So, why did you run away like a cowardly Communist?”

“I…I was worried that she would regret it all once the alcohol wore off,” Illya says slowly, avoiding Solo’s gaze but appreciating the return of humor. As much as he doesn’t want a psychoanalysis from Solo, Illya knows there’s no simple way to explain all the reasons fueling why he left.  

“For some reason, I think there’s more to it,” Solo hums, earning an annoyed grunt from Illya. 

“You know…who I am. She would run once she realized,” Illya mumbles, clenching his fists at his sides and continuing to look anywhere but at Solo. He tries not to think about his past. Although it has shaped him into a man with accomplishments, it still left him fractured. He longs for Gaby to help piece him back together but would never wish that task on anyone but himself. A long pause lingers between the two men and Illya almost leaves the room, assuming the conversation has come to an end. It’s a foolish notion because Solo never allows anyone to get the last word. Ever. 

“Gaby hasn’t had the easiest life either. I think out of any sane woman that would date you, she’d understand the most,” Solo says gently. 

“It is more complicated than that-”

“No, it really isn’t. You like a pretty girl and for some reason, she likes you too. It can’t get much simpler than that, Peril. Unless you need the birds and the bees talk. In which case, I may need a few props,” smirks Solo but his tone softens again. “Look, I understand you have a myriad of issues, both mommy and daddy, but don’t assume the worst before it happens. If it doesn’t work out, then you can at least say you gave it a go. You, out of anyone I know, seem like the type who would rather fail at something he gave his all than regret the ‘what ifs’. Especially if the ‘what ifs’ involve Feng Shui-ing with a pretty little ballerina.”  

“How are you offering advice about a woman and making sense?” Illya scoffs but looks up and offers Solo a small smile. 

“Don’t go expecting this sort of sage counseling all the time. I’ll start having to charge if I need to keep being a therapist,” Solo shoots back with a wink. “Though, fair bit of advice, you’re probably going to have to do quite a bit of begging to get back on her good side. Now she’s had a couple days to stew, Gaby’s rather mad.” 

“I assume you have already come up with a new plan for this?” 

“Of course,” Solo says, brow raised as if he is surprised Illya even considered otherwise. “But you are about to talk to her Uncle, so I’d keep your best poker face on.” 

“What you said about her…pretending I was her boyfriend. Is that true?” Illya asks tentatively. While the idea excites him and causes his heart to beat just a little faster, he worries that he misunderstood Solo or is now too far from Gaby’s expectations to impress her. 

“Oh, it’s a doozy,” grins Solo. “She hasn’t told me the _entire_ incriminating story or really mentioned that she was ogling her dashing Russian neighbor but I pieced it together pretty easily. She made up a ‘perfect’ boyfriend so that Waverly and her father weren’t on her tail about dating. Ended up creating this fantasy about a Russian man who’s a martial arts champion that plays chess and enjoyed her ballet.”  

“Ah,” Illya intones, not sure what he could really say about that but also not wanting to pull focus to the heat he now feels in his cheeks. She knew he’d been watching her but didn’t mind. She even did some watching of her own. 

“Let’s just hope ‘Uncle Waverly’ hasn’t worked it out,” Solo teases, patting Illya on the shoulder firmly before walking out of the conference room. “I think she named the guy ‘Alexi’.” 

A lead weight sinks heavily in Illya’s stomach and he lets out a sigh. He finds that while he is more hopeful about some of his future, he is now considerably more concerned about what Waverly wants to discuss. Waverly’s sudden interest in Illya before the holidays now make much more sense. At least he knows why the man was so keen on learning all of Illya’s nicknames and his opinions on women. He just hopes that ‘Alexi’ and Gaby ended their relationship on good terms. 

 


	8. Illya Buys A Car First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly offers his two cents and Mr. Fedorov totally ships Gaby/Illya 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was meant to be the last chapter but Gaby simply refused to cooperate with me so we got at least one more ;)

 

“Mr. Kuryakin, please sit,” Waverly says pleasantly enough, briefly looking up from whatever it is he’s composing on his computer. Illya makes his way to one of the leather seats in front of Waverly’s desk, wiping his sweaty hands on the front of his pants as he waits for the Vice President to finish up his work. It takes Waverly about 4 minutes to do so. With each second passing, Illya grows increasingly concerned that this isn’t going to be a conversation about work. As he waits, Illya clenches and unclenches his fists but refuses to look away from Waverly as he knows it’s a sign of weakness. He tells himself this is no different than the power plays that Waverly utilized when fishing for information. But the Vice President has always struck Illya as more of a man of action than premeditated strategy so these past few weeks had been an interesting shift in his understanding of Waverly. If he really wishes to place a pretty metaphor on it, Illya supposes this has all been a game of chess. And if Illya knows anything, it’s chess. 

When Waverly finally looks up, he offers Illya a tight smile as he clasps his hands on his desk. A menacing shine lights his eyes for a moment but it’s gone before Illya can be certain. 

“Tell me, did you have a pleasant New Year’s?” 

“Yes….ah. No? Mostly,” Illya says slowly, changing his answer when he sees the slightest quirk of Waverly’s eyebrow. Not a good opening move. “Did you, Sir?”

“Mostly,” Waverly says, echoing Illya with a knowing glint in his eye that puts the fear of God into Illya’s heart. This is not a conversation about work. “Though, around 12:45, I got a rather distressing call from my niece. Are you familiar with my niece, Mr. Kuryakin?”

“Uh-”

“You see, she moved to London after ending a rather terrible relationship. I had hoped she’d set her standards a little higher once she moved on. In fact, at one point I entertained the notion of suggesting the two of you go on a date,” Wavery says, moving to lean his arms on the desk. The admission piques Illya’s attention. That’s an interesting new piece of information that he had never expected. He’s flattered but he knows that he’d never have agreed if Waverly asked him weeks ago since he didn’t know the niece in question is Gaby. “But then she began seeing a Russian man who had a striking similarity to you in terms of interests. His name’s Alexi. When they broke up, I thought the last thing she’d want was to be set up with a man like him. Do you see where I’m going?” 

“I…think so,” Illya says, mostly because it’s what Waverly wants to hear. At this point, Waverly has gained control of the board center. There’s a strategy to all he is revealing but Illya cannot counter. 

“When Gaby called me in the wee hours of the New Year, she was in tears. Asked if she could spend the day with her father and me. Claimed she ran into Alexi and it was bringing up some past insecurities,” says Waverly in a deceptively calm tone and Illya squelches the urge to swallow past the lump in his throat. The reminder of Gaby crying shoots an arrow through Illya’s heart. Not showing emotion is an art that he has worked hard to master but the current circumstances are testing him. Waverly’s lips tighten into a thin line. “It displeases me when Gaby is upset.”   

“Then that call was unfortunate.” 

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. Now, I will admit to you, Mr. Kuryakin, that I have an interesting range of contacts that owe me favors. One of which is a man who works in the Russian Embassy. He sent me over a list of Russian men with work visas, currently residing in London. Ages 20-40. And do you know the interesting thing about this list? All ‘Alexis’ listed ended up not fitting any of Gaby’s descriptions,” Waverly explains, setting his pieces to strike whatever defense Illya has built around his king. To be honest, Illya is seriously starting to consider that Waverly has painstakingly set up a hit on a nonexistent man who is actually supposed to be Illya.  

“So…that means-”

“It means I have been rather concerned that ‘Alexi’ was not originally forthcoming in his identity, which led me to become concerned for Gaby’s wellbeing. That is, until I overheard Mr. Solo and your conversation,” says Waverly. To Illya, the note of voice says ‘check’. A long pause follows as Illya tries to decide on his next move. Eventually, he just goes with the truth.  

“To be fair, I did not meet her until New Year’s Eve,” Illya says, clenching his jaw. He’s acutely aware he’s being accused of something but doesn’t know if he is also being blamed for the fact that Gaby used him as a boyfriend template. _That_ , he was not responsible for. 

“Yes, but you did make quite the muck up of it, didn’t you?” 

At that, Illya has no counter because it’s true. A painful ‘checkmate’, if any. If Illya could repeat that night, he’d make sure he’d stay and confess to Gaby what he felt for her, even if it was technically their first meeting. But that does him no good now.  

“What do you want me to do about it?” Illya asks. He expects the worst. For Waverly to condemn him and wrench out a promise of never setting eyes on Gaby again. Only just considering that option causes a surge of energy to burst through Illya and he knows that he will fight. 

“I expect you to fix this, Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly says, looking at Illya like he is beginning to doubt his intelligence. “While you upset my niece, I have no doubt that you could stand to make her quite happy. You are also exceedingly more responsible than most of the men she’s shown interest in and that suits everyone in the family much better in the long run.” 

“Did you take into account my…leaving her on New Year’s?” asks Illya cautiously, genuinely curious as to the change in attitude but also not wanting to sway it back the other way. Waverly’s shoulders are relaxing just slightly and he begins to write something on a notepad. 

“I admit, I had to do a cost-benefit analysis but the email Solo sent me, swayed me towards a more positive opinion,” Waverly says with the slightest hint of a smirk.  

“Email?”

“Yes. Mr. Solo sent me an email just as you walked through my door. Completely apologized on your behalf,” explains Waverly and Illya’s brow rises in disbelief. Although Solo is quite persuasive when he wants to be, he finds it hard to believe that Waverly took Solo’s words at face value in this matter. “Gaby also talks about Solo and I’ve come to firmly believe that Solo has her best interest in mind, more than he likes to admit. Much to your luck.”    

“Gaby _is_ a lovely woman,” Illya admits, his cheeks turning pink against his wishes. 

“Yes. I’m thoroughly aware,” Waverly smiles tightly and tears off the note he scribbled out. He folds it twice and points it at Illya with two fingers but lifts the paper away when Illya reaches out for it. “Gaby works at Chester’s Garage and Motor Services. This is the address. I sincerely hope we do not have this conversation again.” 

There is clearly a threat in that wish but Illya simply nods once and takes the address. Waverly’s attention goes back to his computer and he doesn’t look up as Illya stands and walks to the door. Just as Illya steps out, Waverly says his final peace.  

“Oh and Mr. Kuryakin? Make sure to grovel,” Waverly advises and there’s almost a sing-song quality to it. A lump forms in Illya’s throat. He’s not sure where to begin groveling for what he did to Gaby but it’s obvious that’s the only advice he will get from Waverly on the matter. Hopefully, Solo will have something a little more helpful but Illya knows that if he wants to get back on Gaby’s good side, he’ll probably have to come up with something all on his own.

 

* * *

 

Illya does come up with a plan and he’s quite proud of it. While Solo’s plan was solid in its own right, it felt too derivative of _Cyrano de Bergerac_ for Illya’s preferences. Solo’s pride is injured at the decline of his ‘airtight’ plan but he respects the decision. Though, it’s a little unclear whether he’s going to actually cancel the order for a roomful of roses and the German caterers or save them as a ‘celebration’ party. Luckily, Solo’s attention is stolen when the pretty, leggy blonde financing one of their projects gets a trial separation from her husband. This allows Illya to concentrate without Solo constantly interjecting ridiculous suggestions. The only unfortunate thing about Illya’s plan is it takes him about a week before he can implement it. His plan involves a car, which he does not have, so he buys one. But cars are not cheap. 

Technically, he doesn’t need a _good_ car for his plan. Eventually, he finds a rundown ‘65 Mini Cooper but it doesn’t run. While the engine needs to be replaced and the interior is shot, the price is right at just £250. In the end, he rents a tow truck to tow it from the outskirts of Surrey to Chester’s Garage and Motor Services in Canterbury Industrial Park. He just hopes that by the time he and the car get there after work, the garage hasn’t shut down for the day. 

At first glance the garage is a decently sized mom and pop business. The front lot is full of cars that look to be the normal middle to lower class stock but there are a couple out of place expensive brands. The girl at the front desk is sweet with a South London accent and large, gold hoop earrings. She raises her eyebrow and smirks when Illya asks for Gaby to work on his car personally. She insists that they aren’t a restoration garage once she gets a look at the car yet to be unloaded but Illya is insistent as well. When it’s clear Illya will not move his car or change his decision, she grabs one of the mechanics. The balding man that appears by her side is in his late thirties and his name patch proclaims him to be Jake. He takes one, long assessing look at Illya, who returns it. Eventually, the man chuckles and mutters something to the front desk girl about needing to talk to Gaby about her ‘insistent Russian boyfriends’. This worries Illya somewhat as he isn’t sure what Gaby has said about him or ‘Alexi’ to her coworkers. Still, the older man waves Illya to follow him outside. After giving orders to the truck driver to make his way to the back, Jake leads Illya the same direction. 

“Gaby’s just finishin’ up with another customer. Then we’ll see if she’s willin’ to take on that mess,” Jake says and Illya would be insulted if it wasn’t the truth. “Normally, we don’t do much body work here but for the right price, we’re willin’ to negotiate. You ain’t one of them oligarchs, are you?” 

“Ah, no,” Illya says with a raised eyebrow, both intrigued and concerned by the term. He is beginning to wonder what sort of garage this really is. “Very far from it.” 

“Good. They may be good for business but I’m tired of them sniffin’ round Gaby, even if she can take care of herself. I don’t take kindly to anyone tryin’ to steal my mechanics,” Jake complains. The ‘sniffing’ makes Illya frown. Although Illya was a social pariah once his father was arrested, there had been one man who eventually took interest in the young boy. Oleg Vasilek decided, one day, to become Illya’s mentor. Truthfully, Oleg was only interested in trying to seduce Illya’s mother but he’d grown a fondness for the awkward boy during the failed courtship. Oleg had done a lot of good for Illya but he was not the most scrupulous. Most of his fellow oligarchs were not. Though, why a gruff, working class English man sounds as if he knows much about the special class of Russians, Illya is not certain. Surely, if one has so much money, then one could take their fancy cars to the dealerships for repairs. Unless one wants to flirt with a tiny German mechanic-ballerina.  

When they turn the last corner, Illya sees Gaby standing next to a beautiful black ’69 Maserati Ghibli. She’s pointing towards it, explaining something to the man that must be the owner. On the ground by her feet is a case of _Marusya_ and Illya is starting to get a better idea of where she is getting her contraband alcohol. He is also getting clearer image of what sort of garage this is. When she catches sight of Illya, her brow furrows before she scrunches up her face in anger.  

“Mr. Fedorov, Gaby, I hope we’re not intrudin’ on anything,” Jake says, making their arrival officially known. 

“What do you think you are doing here?” Gaby asks, crossing her arms and glaring at Illya as if he will turn to dust if she tries hard enough. Illya’s heartbeat quickens at the sight of her. In a pair of dirty coveralls, hair covered by a colorful scarf and grease smudges on her face, she has never looked more beautiful to him. “You have some nerve.” 

“I did say that if I had car trouble, I might seek you out,” Illya says, smiling sheepishly and knowing that he will get nothing but disdain from her. A man can hope, though. 

“And I said that you couldn’t afford me,” Gaby shoots back. “Besides, you said you didn’t have a car.” 

“Well, I bought one,” Illya shrugs. He is acutely aware of the stares on him. Jake is behind him but the Mr. Fedorov next to Gaby has turned around. He’s a slightly shorter, stocky man. Illya can tell from the confident but disinterested way he holds himself to the way his suit fits that he is rich and powerful. Probably the oligarch that Jake was referring to. 

Gaby turns away to look at the Mini Cooper now being towed in to the private back lot. Her brow raises in surprise as she takes in the worse for wear car. The other men follow her gaze. Although Jake knows the state of the vehicle, Mr. Fedorov is taken by surprise. His lips thin.  

“You ask for your money back, I hope,” Mr. Fedorov says, looking at Illya with a look of pity and understanding. It makes Illya bristle just a bit and he tries to remind himself that he is not competing for Gaby’s affections against this older Russian man. Though, Solo’s words of warning that Gaby has a ‘Russian thing’ begin to concern him.  

“Gaby, this young gentleman is a potential payin’ customer and you best treat him as such,” Jake warns but there is laughter hiding in his tone, especially as all the men watch Gaby’s face fall and her little hands clench into fists at her sides. “He asked for you specifically. Apparently, he can’t get the thing to start. Don’t think it has an engine though, so that may be part o’ the reason.” 

“If you want my advice, you should bring that back to the scrap yard that you bought it from,” Gaby says, malice pulsing through every word despite her attempts to be civil. “We repair and upgrade _working_ cars. We don’t restore cars.” 

“What about that Aston Martin I had you restore?” asks Mr. Fedorov, feigning ignorance at the tension and turning towards Illya with a straight face. “She did beautiful work. Even painted it at the body shop Chester owns down the street.”  

“Yes…but that was a special order. Because you are a good customer and I worked extra hours that you paid for,” Gaby sputters. “Besides, I am very busy. I probably won’t even be able to get to it until next week.” 

“Then I will wait. I can be very patient,” Illya promises and a tinge of red coats Gaby’s face. He’s not sure if it’s a blush of embarrassment or anger. 

“I don’t even know what can be salvaged. It may be rusted through,” Gaby says, voice hitching a little as she tries to find an excuse. 

“I am willing to take the risk,” Illya says calmly.

“It will be expensive.” 

“I will pay.” 

“You’re being an idiot,” Gaby growls. 

“I think we both know by now that I am truly an idiot,” Illya admits and Gaby deflates before standing straight again, refusing to let her anger leave. The other two men are now listening intently, much to Illya’s displeasure but he supposes that if he must grovel, it would do more for Gaby’s pride if he damaged his just that little bit more. “I’m sorry for what I did. I have regretted it every second since. Please, let me explain.” 

“I do not care. Why can’t you just leave again?” Gaby shakes her head, biting her bottom lip and crossing her arms. 

“Now Gaby, you should listen,” Mr. Fedorov says sagely, leaning back on his heels. “A Russian man will only ever apologize three, maybe four times in his life. Once to his mother, once to his wife and once at the advice of his lawyer.”

“Would that make me his wife?” Gaby asks with a scoff, clearly unimpressed at the explanation. 

“If he apologizes the right way,” Mr. Fedorov winks in a suggestive manner that just flusters both Gaby and Illya. Illya is not sure he appreciates Mr. Fedorov’s help and he’s also not sure if this can be categorized as help. 

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” Gaby says with finality. “But I will fix your stupid car that you probably can’t even fit in. Then you have to promise to leave me alone forever.” 

“If you do not want to see me after my car is finished, I will leave you alone,” Illya forces the promise out. He doesn’t want to run the risk of never having her in his life, even if it only consists of catching glimpses of her through the window. But if this is the only way to get her to listen to him for just a second, then it’s worth trying. Still, he gets a terrible sinking feeling in his gut at the possibility that he won’t be able to change her mind. His promise reassures Gaby though and she relaxes. 

“Good. Have the tow truck drop if off here and I will call you when I have a chance to see what needs to be done,” Gaby says. With a farewell to Mr. Fedorov, she picks up her case of vodka and walks away with her head held high, the bottles clinking together with each step. All three men watch her go in varying degrees of amusement. 

“So, you’re the bloke that kissed her and then ran off like a wet kitten,” Jake says, eyeing Illya up and down. He appears satisfied with the abashed look on Illya’s face and the blush that’s now gone to his ears. “Long as the excuse ain’t another bird, you’ll be fine.” 

“It wasn’t,” Illya mumbles. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at his shoes. 

“Yeah, Gaby can be a tad intimidatin’ even if she is the size of a Yorkie,” Jake laughs, seeming to understand what had happened without any need for explanation. 

“Лицом красавица, а нравом только чёрту нравится,” Mr. Fedorov says, patting Illya on the shoulder. _Face of an angel but only the Devil likes her temper_. While there may be a little bit of truth to that, Illya can’t help but admit to himself that he kind of likes Gaby’s unrelenting anger. He likes his women strong and there’s certainly a strength in Gaby’s passion. Even if he is currently bearing the brunt of it. “Women like to be right. Let her be right and she will come around.” 

“Also, buy her lots of scarves. That one likes scarves,” Jake adds. 

“And all women like diamonds,” Mr. Fedorov says and Jake nods. With a sigh, Illya listens as the two older men offer their sage advice on how to woo Gaby. While Illya doesn’t think these particular suggestions will work on her, he still appreciates the support. At least, he tells himself to, because the next few weeks of groveling will be easier if everyone _else_ is on his side.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian used is from a list of Russian sayings I found online. It roughly translates to 'Beautiful face but only hell likes her temper' and I sort of adjusted it in English so it made more sense.


	9. I Want You To Love Me Now Or Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya tries to woo Gaby with his cooking because the talking isn’t working so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Hope you enjoy it! I've had a lot of fun writing this and the fandom has been so welcoming! Thanks guys! I do have ideas to further this 'verse so look out for that...
> 
> IMPORTANT TRANSLATION NOTE: I have a lot of South London slang in some of this chapter. There are superscript numbers by 'foreign words' and you should be able to just hover your mouse over the words and the translation will appear. Let me know if there's a mistake or issue on this as I've worked a long time to try and get it to work.  
> Mobile and tablet users will have to scroll down, unfortunately. 
> 
> Any mistakes in the slang is on me.

Gaby and Illya sit behind the shop on a pair of old folding chairs. It’s a surprisingly warm day and they are enjoying the sun during lunch. Across from them still sits Illya’s sad little Cooper, untouched and continuing to rust. Gaby has not taken the time to see what needs to be done for it and it’s been two weeks. She has no regrets, though she is beginning to waver because it has given Illya a flimsy excuse to visit the garage and ask for any progress. 

Of course, the entire shop thinks her would-be suitor is hilarious and have no objection to letting Illya putter about the floor if he avoids tools and cars. Eve, the receptionist, has even concocted a handwritten contract with him to not sue them for any injuries. It’s complete with hearts dotting the eyes and another mechanic, Luka, as a ‘witness/notary’. 

Today is the first time that Gaby has given in and actually sat down with him instead of shouting at him that she’ll call whenever she got around to getting an estimate. In her defense, he brought her lunch and she was hungry. The homemade dumplings, or pelmeni1 as he called them, looked much better than the ready meal she stuffed into her bag this morning. That was the only reason she agreed to his ridiculous request that she could only have the dumplings if she ate with him. The dumplings are delicious so she supposes sitting with him for 15 minutes won’t kill her or wound her pride too much. Though, five minutes in and the comfortable silence on his part is starting to annoy her.  

“What are you even going to do with the car when it is finished? _If_ I can even save it,” Gaby asks Illya, waving towards the car then popping another dumpling in her mouth. They _really_ are good. 

“Maybe I sell it. Maybe I just drive around all day, passing the garage over and over to watch you screaming,” Illya says with a shrug and a little smirk. Although Gaby’s always remembered him standing tall in his apartment, with her, he tends to hunch in on himself. She’s not sure if it’s simply because he’s still uncertain over where he will stand with her or if he’s just uncomfortable towering over everyone. When she tries to think back on the New Year’s Eve party to compare her memories, all she can remember of that night is how euphoric being around him made her feel before her heart was crushed. She holds onto the disappointment when she turns to face him. 

“Then you will be wasting your time. Like I have been telling you each time you visit.” 

“I got you to sit with me. I would say that is time well spent,” Illya says with a little shrug and just a hint of smugness slips through.

While Gaby knew when she first sat down that it was exactly what Illya wanted, it still annoys her to be reminded of the fact. She’s never liked doing what others tell her and it’s especially irksome when it’s at the command of someone she’s sworn to hate forever. With a scowl, she stands up and clutches the Tupperware in her hands. 

“And like every other time, this is a waste,” she announces, turning to leave. When she remembers that she still has three dumplings left, she quickly stuffs them into her mouth before pushing the fork and empty container into his chest. Gaby ignores the little smile on his face as she walks back into the garage with her head held high and her cheeks filled with Russian homemade dumplings. 

This happens every day for another week and a half. Illya stops by for lunch with a new homemade (usually Russian) dish and the stipulation that she must sit with him to eat. Each meal is delicious and worth the forced silence she inflicts.  Until she gives up and starts up a short conversation before working herself over whatever he says then leaving in a huff. Although Gaby’s pride is probably thrice the size of her, she finds herself peeking through her closed curtains in the evenings to try and catch Illya cooking their lunch for the following day. When he talks to the other mechanics or pretends to not notice Eve flirting with him, Gaby eavesdrops and smiles at whatever silly thing he says. Occasionally, she and Illya have civil conversations where she learns more about him, such as how he got the scar by his eye and the things he misses about Russia. She also realizes by the seventh day that she is looking forward to seeing him. _Him_. Not the food that he’s bringing. 

 

* * *

 

 

On the eighth day of what Luka calls her ‘meals on wheels’ special delivery, Gaby finally sucks it up and takes a look at the Cooper. It’s not as horrible as she imagined but it’s still going to be pricey, even without her jacking up the cost. There are a lot of parts that need to be ordered special since it is a vintage car. She tells Illya this during lunch, assuming he will agree to get it towed away and turned into scrap. Instead, he agrees to go forward with the ridiculous request and asks for it to be painted ‘communist red and yellow’ to annoy Solo. This irks Gaby, for some reason, because deep down, she knows he shouldn’t be spending thousands of pounds to restore a car just as an excuse to see her. Especially when there’s not a guarantee that she will agree to a date. There’s a lot of her own insecurities bundled into her rage when she screams at him in front of other customers and runs off. She tries not to think about it as she does oil changes and brake replacements for the rest of the day, avoiding the worried but judgmental glances of her coworkers. 

Eventually, it’s time to go and she washes up before meeting Eve. It’s Friday and they usually go out to grab drinks with the rest of the boys. Though, they’ve agreed to just keep it a girl’s night since Illya (and she also suspects Solo, if his cryptic texts have been any clue) will be joining the boys after Luka’s ridiculous invitation. So, Eve hops into Gaby’s car and purses her lips but keeps silent throughout the ride. It’s a little unsettling, since Eve normally talks a mile a minute. Gaby supposes that if she would ever call anyone in London a best friend, it would be Eve (but Solo may be a close second). The woman was welcoming to Gaby the moment she walked through the doors to interview for the mechanic job and went out of her way to include Gaby in fun outings with the other mechanics’ girlfriends. Eve eventually admitted to Gaby that she was relieved to not be the only girl in the shop and Gaby must agree after years of the same. Now, Gaby is a little concerned about the talking that Eve is going to want to do. She suspects that a silent Eve means that all the words are just piling up. 

They finally find parking after about fifteen minutes of circling and make their way to the North Pole Bar and Piano Restaurant, offering small talk along the way. Because the boys outnumbered the girls, they had dibs on the normal after work pub. Eve excitedly suggested this place for their girl’s night since there’s the option of dancing or shisha (and that it had ‘bangin’ vibes’2). It’s only when they’ve been seated at a small table and ordered their food that Eve clears her throat. Gaby has been expecting this and is surprised Eve has waited this long. 

“ _Sooo_ , what happened today?” Eve asks with a perky smile and jaunty quirk of her head that make her dark brown curls bob more than usual. The question is obviously about Gaby’s outburst at Illya. It’s the first time that anyone has seen her truly lose her mind towards Illya and it was entirely out of line. But she’s not ready to admit that. 

“I do not know what you’re talking about,” Gaby goes for ignorance and takes a long sip of her virgin mojito, wishing it was full of alcohol. She needs it for this conversation. Outweighing the pros and cons, Gaby wonders how much she can drink tonight and still get up early enough the next day to pick up her car before it’s towed. As uneasiness roils in her stomach while she attempts to avoid Eve’s gaze, Gaby decides that the damn thing can get towed for all she cares. 

“Is it3” Eve says with a raised brow and smirk when Gaby flags down the waitress to order a whiskey sour. She hasn’t been able to drink vodka lately without thinking about Russians, which has just made her extra ornery. 

“The sooner I can fix that stupid man’s car, the faster he will get out of my life,” Gaby says with a passion that has begun to die down this past week, much to her dismay. 

“Are you takin’ the piss4 right now? Girl, he is well buff5. You jump on that ‘fore he comes to his senses,” Eve scoffs, causing Gaby to pout just a little. She knows that Eve is not on her side but the least she can do is support her a little. “Look, I know half the time I’m just wafflin’6 ‘bout nuthin’ but if you’re ever gonna listen to me, take my advice now. When a fit7 Russian bends over to just talk to you, includin’ cookin’ you lunch daily, you make him your hubz8. Honestly, it’s not that deep9. He walked out on you ‘cause he’s insecure. I can totally see it even if you refuse to.” 

“You don’t know that,” Gaby insists with a shake of her head but Eve won’t hear it. 

“I see what you can’t ‘cause you’re too busy tryin’ to keep vexed ‘bout nuthin’. He’s got hearts in his eyes whenever he looks at you. And they break every time he leaves. Mind you, he’s devs10 ’cause he’s leavin’ _you_ , not ‘cause you aired11 him,” Eve says, hair moving wildly about and brown eyes wide with irritation. Normally, Gaby can only understand some of what Eve says when she gets worked up but Eve has made a conscious effort to cut down on her slang to get her point across. She’s also defined quite a bit of it to Gaby throughout the time they’ve known each other. The waitress places the whiskey sour in front of Gaby and her shoulders slump. 

“Why does he even want me?” Gaby asks quietly, looking down at her drink and for once in her life, not all that interested in the alcohol. In the corner of her eyes, she can see Eve’s features soften. 

“Oh bae12,” Eve sighs, mouth in an exaggerated pout. “What man wouldn’t want you? You’re smart, you’re peng13 and you can put an engine back together in an hour and a half. You’re the total package. Believe me, if I ever meet this wasteman14 Alexander, he’s gonna get duppied15 for makin’ you think otherwise.”

The encouragement makes Gaby smile, if only at the sheer conviction Eve has behind her words. In a fight between Alexander Vinciguerra and Eve Sanders, Gaby would put her money on Eve every time. 

“You need to forget all the fears you got and just go for it. Stop wastin’ energy being angry and waste it with shaggin’16. Believe me, you’ll feel much better after,” Eve says with a sage nod and Gaby can’t help but laugh. Taking a sip of her whiskey sour, she raises an eyebrow when both her and Eve’s mobiles buzz. Eve gets to her mobile first and tsks. “I think you may have lost your chance. Luka says that friend of yours, Solo, is gettin’ close with Illya. Thinks Solo may be in love with him. But I gotta say, wouldn’t mind being in the middle of that lush17 sandwich.” 

“Solo tends to be touchy with a lot of people,” Gaby shrugs. Honestly, she thinks Solo became much more physical than most because it helps disguise his sticky finger habits but there's no need to tell Eve this. So, Gaby glances at her own text. She’s not too surprised that it’s from Solo.  

 

Message from: Napoleon Solo

Sent: 6:43 PM

Peril finally agreed to help on my next job for a bit of cash. Dreams do come true. #blessed

 

A weight thuds to the bottom of her stomach. ‘Job’ for Solo means a crime of some sort. Gaby realizes that she’s pushed Illya to a life of crime in order to pay for this stupid car. All so he can see her. Despite the warm words from Eve settling over her, Gaby knows for certain that she is not worth criminal activity. Solo has been complaining about Illya not wanting anything to do with his heists even if he would be perfect for them. While Gaby is happy that Solo has the partner-in-crime of his dreams, Gaby does not want it to be at the expense of Illya’s pride or morality. 

“What’s that look? Solo coppin’ off18 with Illya? I told you to snap him up before he moves on,” Eve chides, using the straw to swirl her cocktail. 

“No,” Gaby says and shakes her head solemnly. “You're right. I just realized I have been an idiot about Illya.” 

“Thank you! Everyone needs to listen to me more,” says Eve triumphantly before taking a long sip of her drink. “Y’know, it’s just like the time Luka tried to pull off those blue joggers. I told him when he bought ‘em they was for girls but he wouldn’t listen. Now I just gotta convince the shop man’dem19 to stop calling him Big Money.” 

“How about we talk about your love life? Hm? You and Luka are hanging out more,” Gaby asks with a sly smile. At the change in topic, Eve’s triumph slips. Gaby knows for a fact that as much as Eve kidded Luka about those joggers, she also very much enjoyed the backside view.

“What? What you talkin’ about?” Eve says as she tries to shrug the light accusation off. Letting out a scoff, she begins to look around the restaurant. “Where’s our food?”

“See, not so fun when it’s you,” Gaby shoots and Eve rolls her eyes. 

“There’s nuthin’ between Luka and me. There can’t be anyway. You know my pop’s rule about employees linkin’,” Eve says and at Gaby’s confused expression, she translates. “That means datin’.” 

“Didn’t he make that rule because of you?” asks Gaby. She’s genuinely curious. Eve’s been working at the shop since she was 16. Her father, Chester, wanted her to learn some ropes in the family business before she started university but had made it clear to all the mechanics that no one was to touch. At least, that’s what some of the guys told Gaby. Now at 22, Eve is working on her MBA but still enjoys her shifts at the shop. Though, Gaby knows firsthand of how protective Chester is over both women in the shop when he visits. Eve, of course, is his little girl, so it's a tad more stifling for her. Letting out a long sigh, Eve nods. 

“Yeah but you know how Luka is about rules sometimes. He really likes it there and doesn’t want to get both of us in trouble. I think my pops had words with him but Luka won't tell over20.” 

“Are you annoyed with him about that?” Gaby asks and Eve huffs. 

“A little. I mean, how can I not? Am I not worth getting sacked21?” Eve jokes but only half-heartedly. Her expression turns serious. “No but…I told him to hold off. I- I don’t want him to lose his job over me. I know he was strugglin’ before, gettin’ legal jobs and whatnot. 'Sides, what right does my pops have in tellin' off man’dem that like me? Luka is right proper about everything. Finally going back to uni to finish his engineering degree, too. I could do worse. You _know_ I've dated worse.” 

"The entire shop knows. Every time Luka found out he kept clanging about," Gaby teases and a small pleased smile twists Eve's lips as she focuses her attention on her quickly disappearing drink. Many of the boys Eve dated were loud and obnoxious but Gaby supposes their flair for personality helped Eve forget Luka for just a little bit. "Will you still be working at the shop when you start an internship? Maybe you can start something then." 

"Yeah but I'm still gonna be livin' with my rents22. Probably won't be able to hide it from them for long. And I'm sure one of the man’dem at the shop is gonna slip up if they learn. This is gettin' me devs," Eve moaned, burying her head in her hands. "Let's talk about something else. Like what we gonna do about and your boy."

"Honestly, I think you're making it to be worse than it is," muses Gaby. "Maybe we are the same that way." 

"You know what we need? We need some food then another drink then dancing," Eve declares and Gaby can't help but cheer to that. 

 

* * *

 

 

Since Illya agreed to help Solo in his schemes, the man has been positively buzzing with energy. Illya is extremely concerned he made the wrong choice but he also needs extra money if he wants to pay for his car and not wipe out his entire savings. It is ridiculously irresponsible, both the spending so much money on a car he does not need and helping Solo with a crime the American is still being vague about. Yet, Illya finds that he is willing to do anything to keep Gaby in his life and the small part of him that is still logical says that is a bad thing. Vulnerability will kill you. At least, that is what he learned on the playground and from Oleg and climbing up his career. But he knows that the only chance he has to keep Gaby is to be vulnerable and it's a surprisingly liberal feeling. Though, maybe he is just confusing it with nothing left to lose.

It is almost midnight and he sits in his living room, yawning. Solo is pouring over maps and blueprints of a building that he has yet to explain the purpose of. There is a safe and it is very hard to crack, with motion and heat sensors. That is all Illya understands. Illya thinks Solo is trying to steal a painting but he's not sure. He's starting to think it is actually just a baseball card. Perhaps this is Solo's way to keeping Illya's role free of implications. If he gets caught by the police, he will literally have nothing to say to them. With a long-suffering sigh, he looks to his windows and wishes he could peak through to see if Gaby has opened her curtains. Solo was quite adamant about keeping the curtains shut.

An insistent knock on the door begins and doesn't stop. Solo starts to unroll ‘decoy’ blue prints of their current work project and at this point, Illya feels this is just over kill. But Solo lives for the presentation and Illya just wants to go to sleep. Maybe whoever is at the door will get Solo out of his flat. 

There is no peep hole so he cracks the door open. To his complete shock, Gaby stares back. She wears the same pink dress from the New Year's Eve party and in her hands is a bottle of _Marusya_ with a red bow on the neck. On her face is a coy expression but also hope shines in her eyes. For a moment, he wonders if the entire evening has been an elaborate nightmare with a much better ending.

Suddenly, Illya finds himself very awake. Clearing his throat and standing up a little straighter, he swings the door so she has more than enough room to stroll in if she so pleases. Instead, Gaby launches herself at him. Any word that Illya wants to say is ripped out of his lungs as he wraps his arms around her. Although he is a strong man and Gaby is small, the surprise attack throws off his balances. He lands on his back with a loud thud and painful exhalation of air. His head bounces on the edge of his rug and he regrets not going for a plush one. Instead of stars in his eyes, he just sees Gaby's pleased face as she sets the bottle next to his head. Even though Illya may have a concussion, he is very content with where he is.

"I think we should start over," Gaby announces. There is an unwavering confidence in her voice that states she isn't going to give Illya a choice on the matter. Not that he disagrees. "I'm sorry I shouted at you. But also you're an idiot. But I also think you're very cute and sweet and do not want you to leave me for Solo."

"There is no worry of that," Illya assures her and Solo lets out squawk of indignation. Not even bothering to offer the American any energy, Illya tentatively places his hands on Gaby's calves. She doesn't make any objection.

"Not even a little worry? I'd be offended if I weren't so proud. I made this happen, you know. Is this why normal people do charity work?" Solo says to no one in particular. From the lack of shuffling, it sounds as if he is fine with Gaby catching a glimpse of their nefarious planning.          

"And I am an idiot but I will try not to be from now on," Illya continues as if Solo hasn't spoken. "Also, I think you are beautiful. The most beautiful little chop shop ballerina in the entire world." 

A wide smile breaks out on Gaby's face and she bends down to rub her nose with his. A shiver runs down Illya's spine. Gaby's legs tighten the grip on his waist.  

"Tell her about her eyes. Or her dancer's legs," Solo says in an exaggerated sotto voce. This time, both Gaby and Illya turn their heads to offer him dirty looks. He's peering over the back of the sofa chair with a smile that would make the Cheshire cat jealous and mischief to match sparkling in his eyes. "Okay. I know when I'm not wanted. But I made this happen, so I fully expect the two of you to name your first child after me. That's just good manners."

"How about you leave and I name no one after you?" Illya offers dryly. Gaby lets out snort as Solo's eyes roll and Illya is pleased to hear he said the right thing for once. With a heavy, forlorn sigh, Solo slowly begins to clean up the mess of papers that he's made. As he does so, Illya attempts to sit up without getting dizzy. It mostly works but when Gaby nuzzles her face into his neck, he finds himself lightheaded for other reasons. She smells of sweet smoke, grease and something floral. Illya quite likes it and takes a long inhale of her hair. When Solo is finished rearranging the blueprints, he makes his way around the couple, stepping over Illya’s legs and into the hallway. With a quirked brow, he takes in the scene before him.  

"Gaby, I expect a fully detailed call tomorrow morning. Peril, you're not getting out of this job," announces Solo in the curt but charming way that only he is capable of before heading down the hall with a whistle. Illya uses his foot to close the door. When it shuts, Gaby pulls away and just as he complains she takes his face with both hands and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s sweet and heated and full of something that is not quite love but still something that he’s never let himself feel before. She tastes of that same sweet smoke wafting from her and strangely enough, like waking up on Christmas and finding presents under the tree when he thought there would be none. He is just across the line of overwhelmed when thoughts of how he doesn’t deserve her start to filter through this mind. But he refuses to let it change this. Refuses to let himself ruin the moment because Gaby was the one that came to him and that means she thinks he’s worth something. 

So, when Illya finally kisses her back, he knows that he is finished running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Extra note** : Luka is slang for money. Hence the nickname. 
> 
> **Translations** :  
> 1\. Pelmeni- A dumpling found in Russian cuisine  
> 2\. Banging vibes- nice atmosphere  
> 3\. Is it?- Really?  
> 4\. Takin’ the piss- Joking  
> 5\. Well buff- really hot  
> 6\. Waffling- talking  
> 7\. Fit- Cute  
> 8\. Hubz- boyfriend  
> 9\. Not that deep- Not serious  
> 10\. Devs- devastated  
> 11\. To air- To ignore  
> 12\. Bae- Sweetie  
> 13\. Peng- Sexy  
> 14\. Wasteman- Loser  
> 15\. Duppied- Beaten up  
> 16\. Shagging- Sex  
> 17\. Lush- Attractive  
> 18\. Copping off- Anything from making out to sex  
> 19\. Man’dem- Group of men  
> 20\. Tell over- To tattle on someone  
> 21\. Sacked-Fired  
> 22\. Rents- Parents


End file.
